


edge of feeling

by iv (ivan)



Series: your love was handmade for somebody like me [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Light Dom/sub, Urban Fantasy, Witcher AU, modern witcher au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13658718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/iv
Summary: she gets him to the edge of feeling and beyond even when he's still empty and numb - or: a monster hunter who fell for a succubus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to my good friend alan for coming up with alternative names for the witcher signs!!  
> in this one, the world described in the witcher saga collided with the telltale gotham, bringing magic and monsters.

The world got fucked up long before either of them was even born. A weird story - two universes clashed together. One of them disappeared forever; but there were remains. Indentations in the surface of the Earth; wrinkles in space and time, things going against logic and reason.

One world disappeared; and magic came to be in the one that remained.

"Magic" is a pretty word - such a shame it's not just sparkles and protection and glory. Sometimes it's a very hungry ghoul trying to bite you in the ass.

And Gotham ghouls seemed to have an affinity for Oswald's flesh.

"This is the sixth time this month." the succubus grumbled, as she was cleaning the wound on Oswald's right leg. "I thought you're experienced."

"Experience is not a good counter to hunger." he grumbled in response. "Also, I'm pretty sure that thing had gold teeth."

"Of course it did. Where did you find it, Falcone's district? Everyone and their mother has gold teeth there."

"So what you're saying is that it was someone's mother who tried to chew my leg off?"

"Italian mammas are like that."

He laughed quietly, and then hissed, as a cleaning potion burned his wounded leg.

The succubus scoffed quietly.

“Oh, be quiet!”

“I deeply apologize for being in pain, my fair lady.” he muttered, rolling his eyes; to which she shook her head and handed him a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Here. And now shut up and let me work.”

“Thanks.” he muttered, opening the bottle with his teeth; he drank some and winced. Jack Daniels was not a good whiskey - but it was easily available, and that was what his inhuman friend was going for when shopping. Easily available, common things - everything to not attract any attention at all.

***

She sure as hell attracted lots of attention when they first met, and he was woken up by her terrified scream.

He had a long, tiring night; he had some errands to take care of, and one thing led to another, and before he knew it - he drank too many hunter potions and he got in one fight too many and he was so, so tired. Usually the place he was living in - a perfectly ordinary, a bit cluttered and stuffy studio, located on the ground floor of a gray building in the most average district of Gotham - was rather quiet; but at the break of dawn - after getting approximately thirty minutes of sleep out of his planned twelve - he was woken up by a terrified, high pitched scream coming from his neighbor’s flat.

The scream stopped abruptly - but Oswald was a hunter, whether he liked it or not. His senses were artificially enhanced; and he could still hear muffled sobbing and struggling coming from behind the wall. It sounded as if someone had a gag shoved between their teeth; as if someone was struggling with their bonds.

It didn’t sound like something that could be happening; and Oswald rolled out of bed, trying to collect his thoughts. His next door neighbor was a man of mystery; he introduced himself as _John Doe_ , claiming he has no idea who is he. There was something deeply unsettling in his sparkling eyes and wide grin, something Oz couldn’t quite name.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Oswald muttered, rubbing his eyes and shuffling towards the door. “Aight. Let’s do this.”

He banged at John’s door with his fist; the pale man opened few seconds later, looking uncharacteristically anxious, his lips twitching in a nervous smile.

“My neighbor!” he said loudly, as Oz peeked over his shoulder, trying to figure out what’s going on; he could still hear the muffled yelps of someone, most likely a woman. “It’s so good-”

“Cut the crap, Doe.” Oswald interrupted him. “I can hear you’re up to something. It’s something loud, and frankly, I don’t want to one day wake up to cops knocking at my door, asking if I know something about the dismembered body next door.”

“But-”

“Step aside.” Oz said firmly, the stern effect completely ruined by a yawn. “I’m a hunter, remember? So step aside… Or I’ll _make_ you step aside. Your choice… Neighbor.”

John sighed deeply and put his hands in his pockets, looking away.

Finally he stepped aside, letting Oz in. Oswald shuffled deeper into his dark lair, with his pale neighbor nervously following him.

“I swear I can explain.” he said nervously, as Oswald entered the only room in the apartment. “She’s a-”

“A succubus.” Oz interrupted him tiredly, seeing a woman tied to John’s couch; terrified and pale, her eyes filled with tears, clearly trying to say something through the gag in her mouth. “Fucking hell, John.”

John Doe was known for his hatred for the succubi; and the many succubi of Gotham knew to avoid him - but this one clearly was new to town.

And now she was in a deep, deep shit and Oswald wondered what did she try to accomplish - did she try to seduce John? Or did she simply pass him on the street?

“Aight.” he muttered, kneeling down next to her. “I’m going to ungag you, and you’re going to _not_ scream.”

She nodded vigorously and he took the rag out of her mouth; and she opened her mouth, but he saw the reflection of a knife in John’s hand before she managed to say anything.

He elbowed his neighbor in the crotch - and then got up and punched him in the throat for a good measure. That was one of the very few things he actually remembered from his hunter training - better be safe, than sorry.

“I’m _very_ tired.” he informed John, who was gasping for air. “I’m tired and annoyed. Go the fuck to sleep.”

He quickly folded his fingers, forming a Somne Sigil; and John fell to the floor, fast asleep. He’d remain that way for the next day; enough time for Oz to get some rest as well and figure out how does he want to resolve the situation where his neighbor tried to kill him over a-

Oh, right. The succubus.

He turned around again; the woman was still there, still tied up, still looking at him fearfully.

“Are you going to kill me?” she finally asked, her voice trembling, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“No.” he said, trying to sound soft.

“T-thank you.” she whispered as he was cutting her ties; he noticed a bracelet on her wrist, undoubtedly an alloy of dimeritium and silver. “I… Did he hurt you?”

“No.” he muttered, taking a bracelet off her as well; he noticed it burned her skin. “Well, if you ask me, you’re free to go.”

He turned around, ready to leave; but she stopped him.

“Can I stick around for a night?” she asked nervously, and he sighed. “Please… I don’t have a place to go, and I don’t think-”

“Sure.” he interrupted her. “I live next door.”

She quietly gathered her stuff; one - rather big - backpack and followed him to his own lair.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I really am a succubus?”

“No.” he said with a yawn, closing the door behind her. “I’m a hunter. I know a succubus when I see one - even one glamoured to look more human. You’re a succubus. No worries though - I happen to _like_ your kind.”

“Thanks.” she said quietly, looking around. “There’s… There’s only one bed.”

“And you can have it.” he muttered, sinking into a chair and hanging his legs over the armrest, resting the back of his head against the nearby table, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, succubus.”

He was fast asleep moments later.

***

She was still there when he woke up, hungry like a wolf.

“Oh.” he said, seeing her; he stretched, wincing slightly, as the long sleep in this uncomfortable position rendered his joints and muscles unpleasantly tense and stiff. “What time is it?”

“Early afternoon. Did… Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” he muttered, stretching until he heard and felt familiar cracking. “I was sure you’d be gone by now.”

“I thought it’d be rude to leave without thanking you properly.” she said nervously. “You… Saved my life yesterday. That man, he- he wanted…”

Her voice cracked and she looked away, pursing her lips.

“I owe you my life, hunter.” she eventually said. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” he lied; hunters were not in any way obliged to hunt down succubi on their own, as they were sentient and human-like; but they also were encouraged to _not_ aid them. It was frowned upon; in fact, if anyone found out - Oz could possibly lose his license. He wouldn’t mind not having to be a hunter anymore - but that would mean everything he went through, the pain and suffering of the Tests and Trials… Was actually for nothing.

(He went through hell and he lost a big chunk of himself in the process.)

“It’s nothing.” he repeated, walking towards his small kitchen. “I might be a hunter, but… I still have some decency left.”

“Yeah. That’s rare among the hunters.” she blurted out and he nodded absentmindedly. Her kind had every reason to hate the monster hunters; hell, even regular humans treated them with disdain. Hunters were mostly emotionless, ruthless and efficiency-oriented; they didn’t care much about social cues and subtleties, about emotional nuances. They were terrifying killing machines - and Oz was unlucky enough to be one of them

“It actually is, kind of. Breakfast?”

“It’s… Afternoon.”

“Uh-uh.” he muttered, checking the fridge. “It sure is. And breakfast food happens to be great every time of day.”

“I… Really shouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t say _no_ to my waffles, or I’ll draw a sad face on them.”

“You’re very nice.” she said, sounding understandably surprised. “I thought-”

“That all hunters are ruthless and cold?” he interrupted her. “Most of us are. Me, on the other hand… I’m incredible at pretending everything’s fine and dandy. I could pass for a normal person… If it wasn’t for the eyes.”

“You have eyes of a serpent.” she said quietly. “A viper.”

He waved his wooden spatula at her.

“The least you can do is to _not_ call a man who’s about to feed you delicious waffles a viper.” he said. “Speaking of feeding…”

“I wasn’t trying to feed off your neighbor, if that’s what you’re asking.” she said defensively, crossing her arms and looking away. “I… I hadn’t tried to feed off anyone in Gotham, actually. I know there are some… Very strict laws regarding the succubi.”

“Mmmhmmm.” he muttered, critically glancing at the waffles. “Yes, it’s not easy, being a succubus in Gotham… But I _can_ get you in touch with _the_ succubus. Fish takes care of her succubi and the incubi.”

“I’d rather not be a sex worker.” she said awkwardly, still not looking at him. “I don’t think I have what it takes, plus… I appreciate being financially independent.”

“Suit yourself. Also… Bon appetit.” he added, setting down a plate full of waffles at a nearby counter.

She walked up and picked it up; and he had a good look at her. She was definitely a succubus, even if she was hiding her horns, markings, goat legs and a tail with magic; her deep blue eyes had specks of gold here and there, and her pale skin was perfectly, flawlessly smooth. Her heart-shaped lips were symmetrical and full; even her hands were perfect, with pink pale fingernails and slender fingers.

“You’re staring.” she muttered, her cheeks turning pink. “I thought… I thought hunters are conditioned to be immune to succubi charms.”

“I graduated last of my class.” he replied, forcing himself to look away. “And yes, we _are_ immune… But it doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate aesthetically pleasing sights.”

“Eyes of a viper and tongue of a fox.” she muttered and he smiled. “You do realize succubi are naturally attracted to people who compliment us, right?”

“Of course. The course on succubi and incubi was the only one I passed with good grades.” he said with a shrug - and she laughed, and her laughter sounded - obviously - perfect. Succubi were shaped into perfection by magic coursing through their veins; beautiful flytraps, alluring and quite deadly - for most.

But hunters - they weren’t _most_. They were stronger; they were made to last, their bodies reshaped and rewritten. Longevity, agility, strength, minds brilliant and cold like diamonds - all in exchange for humanity, for complex emotions. Normal humans very often were too weak to actually survive having a succub feed off them; and there was no shame in that. Everyone has problems - mental disorders, chronic illnesses, tumors, insecurities; something draining their energy, something rendering them too fragile to withstand the need of the succubi.

Everyone - except for the hunters, who were the perfect source of energetic nourishment for the succubi; they couldn’t provide adoration, as they were devoid of whatever made it possible for humans to adore, admire, _love_ \- but those were simply spices. Food without spices is still food - it’s boring and bland, but it’s still nourishing.

And everyone has to eat; and this particular succubus seemed to need something more, than just waffles and a cup of tea. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hands were trembling slightly; telltale signs of the other kind of hunger, eating her alive from the inside, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else. Soon she was going to completely lose herself in this burning hunger - and she’d do anything to sate it.

“Hey. Succubus.”

“Yes?”

“When was the last time you drained someone?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee; she sighed.

“Last month.” she replied reluctantly, and he whistled quietly. They were well into April; and normally the succubi were meant to feed off someone on a bi-weekly basis. “Why do you ask?”

“I saved your life.” he replied with a shrug. “Now I’m saving you from physical starvation. It’d make me sad, seeing you kill someone after I’ve put all this effort into making sure you don’t _die_.”

“You’re a _hunter_ though. You… You’re not supposed-”

“I’m also not supposed to mix hunter potions with alcohol.” he interrupted her with a shrug. “Doesn’t stop me from making absolutely killer drinks though. Come on, fiend. You’ve got nothing to lose… And a very filling, energetic meal to gain.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, glancing at him; he could feel her eyes on him. He had his - rather specific, definitely messy - charm and he knew it; and he could see she’s asking herself if he’s her cup of tea.

“How do I know it’s not a trap?” she finally asked. “How do I know you’re not going to corner and kill me when I’m vulnerable?”

“Bodily pleasures tend to… Befog hunter senses.” he replied, taking off his protective amulet. “Which is why the best way to kill a hunter is to either get him drunk… Or to surprise him in bed.”

“You’re honest.” she said quietly, and he furrowed his brows. “Don’t worry, I’m not reading your mind. I just know hunters… Tend to be terrible liars. _Real_ hunters, at least.” she added, her voice breaking a bit; and he tried to imagine feeling a sting of sadness - but he couldn’t. He didn’t remember what sadness feels like.

He let her feed off him, and she accepted his offer, albeit a bit reluctantly; but her reluctance quickly turned into hungry enthusiasm as he ran his fingers through her red hair and as she was marking his neck with her lips. Succubus or not, she was a lovely creature; and sex was one of very few things that were bringing him to the edge of _feeling_ , to the edge of experiencing actual emotions.

He was a hunter, made to last - it was impossible for her to drain him, but she still managed to tire him down enough to make him need another nap. She wasn’t half as delicate as she looked; she stopped being delicate the moment her eyes lit up with that inhuman, mesmerizing spark, the moment she pushed him down.

He was unconscious when she left; and only hours later he realized he never even learned her _name_.

***

“There.” she said, getting up and wiping her hands. “All patched up.”

“Thanks.” he muttered, back to the reality of the present day. “You know, if it wasn’t for you being a succubus in Gotham… You could be working at a hospital. Gotham General’s always looking for new staff.”

“Yes, but who’d patch _you_ up if I left?”

“No one.” he replied nonchalantly, and she rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person allowed to touch my wounds. Without you… I’d have to patch _myself_ up.”

“So you’d bleed to death then.”

“Mmm, either this… Or I’d get some more scars. Admit it. You _like_ my scars.”

“Mmmmhm.” she muttered. “I do. But… I don’t want you to get more of them.”

She looked at him softly and he looked at her lips, thinking about how nice it’d probably be to kiss her.

***

It seemed like they’re destined to cross paths whenever she needs help; next time they’ve met happened a few weeks later, when Oz was running some errands for Carmine Falcone.

If he could, he’d cut all ties with Carmine, who was single handedly controlling Gotham’s inhuman underground; he was keeping tabs on who are the dopplers impersonating, who are the succubi and the incubi sleeping with, which parks are protected by the leshen and the dryads. He detested Falcone; but the mafioso had something Oz desperately wanted.

He had his identity.

The process of turning a boy into a hunter is rather unpleasant; it involves a lot of pain - pain so burning, so horrendous it often leads to shock-induced memory loss. It was all part of the plan; hunters were meant to be solitary creatures, not bound by who they used to be. And Oswald was no exception - he never wanted to become a hunter. The conscription happened against his will; and he actually tried to fight everything off. He was stubborn, unwilling to let the chemicals flow through him and do their job; and as a result - he forgot nearly everything.

He remembered his name, and he remembered a flash of dark hair he instinctively associated with his mother; he remembered being called _Oz_ and he remembered having something to do with Gotham - but he didn’t remember what family he came from, what his parents looked like, what his life was like.

The pain made him forgot; and Carmine Falcone claimed he knows who Oswald is, what his life was like before the conscription - and he was willing to share this information, in exchange for a decade of no questions asked service.

And Oswald agreed; for a hunter, a decade was nothing; and he didn’t care much about the hunter code and ethics. It was not a path he had chosen for himself; he wanted to become himself again, he wanted a semblance of normality that’d go beyond owning an average flat in an average part of town, beyond having to resort to utmost hedonism in order to _almost_ feel something. He wanted to be normal again - and he felt like learning who is he might be a good start.

Working for Falcone involved doing a lot of ugly things; but he was used to that. He was a hunter, after all; he could handle creatures devouring half-rotten corpses. He could also handle the uglier side of human nature - forcing people to pay back their debts. Blackmail. Destroying someone’s life’s work. Disposing of people who refused to cooperate.

Hunters weren’t meant to be assassins for hire - that’s why Oz had to hide his rudimentary identity when Falcone decided he wants him to _take care_ of someone for him.

That night it was a succub. Oz already knew the story - it happened many times before. A succub came to Falcone looking for shelter; he offered her a spot in one of his nightclubs, where she’d have protection, a place to sleep and people to feed off - and nothing more. All the money she made would go straight into his pocket; and only the most desperate succubi agreed.

And those who _didn’t_? Officially - they were dead. Oswald could be very convincing when he wanted to.

When someone was refusing Falcone’s offer - Oswald was in charge of providing them with one more chance to rethink their decision. One last chance - and when Oz arrived to the usual spot the person he was supposed to take care of was already there - and judging from the bruises on her skin and the muffled sobs coming from underneath the sack on her head whoever handled her before him wasn’t too gentle.

“You’re late, Penguin.” Falcone informed him in a bored tone of voice; he was standing nearby, smoking a cigar, not even looking at his new might-have-been working girl. “I don’t like when you keep me waiting.”

“My apologies.” he replied, rolling his eyes under the mask. “I’ll handle it from here.”

“I know you will.”

Once the mafioso left the scene - an abandoned, partially demolished building at the docks - leaving behind only the heavy smell of his cologne and stifling cigar smoke - Oz walked up to the woman kneeling on the ground and knelt down in front of her, pulling the sack off her head.

_Well, fuck._

The woman on the ground, the succub who refused Falcone’s generous offer - it was the red-haired one he recently saved from being butchered by his neighbor. Once again they met as she was bound and gagged; once again there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her eyes widened as she saw him; her muffled mumbling got louder, as she started to desperately struggle with her bounds. It was a very common reaction to his mask, shaped to resemble a penguin skull; it was not the most frightening mask in existence - but it was not a pleasant sight when facing certain death.

They were alone in the building; Oswald was certain of it. He had proven himself enough times to make Falcone believe his loyalty; besides, the mafioso had more pressing matters to take care of. Disposing of a stubborn succub wasn’t that much of a deal; there was no need to send spies after Penguin to make sure he does his job.

“I need you to calm down.” he said; in response she tried to say something, and even more tears streamed down her face. He briefly considered calming her down with the Sibru Sigil - but who knows how it’d react with a highly distressed succub.

So instead he simply took his mask off and put it down.

“Recognize me?” he asked; she sniffed and nodded vigorously. “Great. I’m now going to take this gag off, and you’re going to _not_ scream. Aight?”

She nodded again, and he ungagged her.

“Fancy meeting you ‘ere.” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Please don’t kill me.” she said, visibly tearing up again; he sighed.

“I’m not going to.” he said, pulling out a knife; her eyes widened again - but she didn’t let out a single sound.

“Hey, I mean it.” he said, carefully cutting her ties. “There.”

She slowly got up - and nearly fell down, because her entire body was shaking. She stared at him in disbelief, as he picked his mask up and put it back on.

“W-what now?” she finally asked; he shrugged.

“You need to lay low for a few days.” he said, fastening the last strap. “And then you should slip out of Gotham and never, ever come back.”

 _That_ caused her to start crying again.

“B-but I can’t!” she choked out. “I gave up _everything_ to get to Falcone!”

“What?” he asked, a bit dumbfounded; but it seemed like he’s not going to get an answer out of her, not as she was having a full-blown breakdown.

“Hey. Hey. Succubus. _Hey_.”

She didn’t answer; but at least she looked at him through her tears.

He pulled his quick travel amulet out of his pocket; it was one of the cheaper versions available. Unlimited uses - but it could only be linked with one place. Naturally, he picked his flat; the amulet came in handy when he was drunk, or lost, or drunk _and_ lost.

He put his hand on her shoulder, holding the amulet in the other hand.

“Hang on.” he muttered, remembering the pattern he’s supposed to draw on the center crystal with his thumb. “Three times clockwise, once counterclockwise… horizontal, vertical, vertical…”

She opened her mouth to say something; but before she had a chance - there was a quiet _whoosh_ and they were standing in the middle of Oswald’s only room.

“I’m not going to kill you.” he repeated, seeing her face. “And I know this doesn’t sound too convincing, considering Falcone probably threatened you with death… _How_ many times, exactly”

“F-fifteen.”

“Fifteen! Well shiver me timbers, that’s a new record. He rarely ever comes up to _ten_.”

She shot him a pale smile; she seemed to be much calmer, now that she wasn’t facing certain death.

And there he was, with a terrified - and seemingly also completely broke - succubus in his tiny flat; a big issue on his hands - and not a lot of ideas as to how to handle it.

***

“What’s for dinner?”

He looked up from the newspaper he was reading; he was half-laying on the couch, with his - wounded, patched up - leg outstretched. His demonic friend was standing in the doorway, with her arms crossed.

“Don’t ask _me._ ” he said, pointing at his leg. “I’m not cooking anything.”

“But I’m _hungry_!”

“You’re _always_ hungry.” he grumbled. “Also, are you hungry for food? Or for… _Me_?”

In response, her stomach gurgled, and he nodded.

“Right. It’s not me then.”

“I’m going to order some Japanese.” she announced, and he raised his eyebrows.

“And who’s going to _pay_ for it?”

“Well, _you’re_ the one with drawers filled with cash.”

Naturally, she was right; Oswald didn’t have a bank account - but he had lots and lots of cash. In a way, he was filthy rich - being a hunter was all kinds of lucrative.

“And _after_ the Japanese?”

“I’m probably going to munch _you_ down.” she replied with stoic calm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

“Ah-ha! So you _are_ hungry for _me_ then.”

“I never said I’m not. Now hush, I need to call mister Tachibana and place our order.”

“Aren’t you at least interested in what _I_ want to eat?”

“Hakata ramen without ginger and with extra noodles, Hiroshima style okonomiyaki with double everything minus anything that lived in a sea and katsu curry.” she replied without looking at him. “You always order the same.”

“What can I say? I like routine.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure you do.”

***

The succubus had fallen asleep on his couch, and he sat on the floor, trying to figure out what now.

According to her own words - she was completely broke, so getting her out of Gotham wasn’t exactly an option, considering it’d mean getting her in touch with the Underground Human-Inhuman Alliance; they had access to resources and contacts all across the States, but they were facing lots of financial issues recently. He had some friends in their ranks - but none of them owed him any favors. He could, naturally, simply _give_ her some money and send her off - but she wasn’t from around Gotham. She didn’t know who to trust, what to say and when; chances were Falcone would find out she’s still alive and everything would go to hell.

After some consideration, he decided on the last possible option - he could hide her for some time. Figure it out. Turn Falcone’s attention to something else, and then - ship her off to someplace more succubi-friendly, like Florida.

It took them the entire next day and sleeping together again to finally exchange names.  
“What’s your name anyway?” he breathed out as she was leaving bite marks on his neck.

“I’m Charlie.” she whispered; and he could swear his heart _twitched_. “I… I’m sorry, I’m not-”

“You’re not used to your snacks asking you what’s your name.” he interrupted her. “I’m Oswald, by the way. Or… Oz.”

There was something odd in her eyes for a moment; a spark of recognition, of understanding - but he didn’t have time to ponder on it, because her hand was on his thigh and her lips were on his neck and her skin was soft and smooth under his fingertips.

Hunters are immune to succubi charms; but there were still certain rituals that had to be completed in order for a succubus to satisfy her hunger; and Oz knew the drill, he knew it by heart. Not just from the books, not just from a lecture; he knew it from experience.

“Tell me I’m beautiful.” she breathed out as she was riding him, her hips moving in a slow rhythm, her back arching; his hands were on her breasts and he was caressing them with his fingertips. “Say it.”

“You’re beautiful.” he whispered; his senses were muted and he didn’t want the moment to end, as he almost felt blissful, almost felt happy. “You are beautiful and I adore you.”

“Keep talking…” she said quietly, her eyes closed; he knew that if she opened them - they’d be dark like bottomless oceans. “Which part of me do you adore, human?”

“The whole of you.” he replied, trying to focus, his tongue heavy in his mouth, his mind clouded. “The whole of you…”

(Her skin was like silk, and her lips were parted in ecstasy; the whole of her was beautiful, the whole of him was submerged in pleasure, in pleasure of her body, of her voice, of her.)

The adoration he was giving her wasn’t real, it _couldn’t_ be real; but it was enough, and he lost himself in her, and through the haze he saw her lips curling up in a smile.

“Thank you, hunter.” she told him later; he scoffed.

“I have a name, succub.”

“I know.” she said, seemingly completely unbothered; she got up from the bed and stretched and he stayed behind, watching her arch her back, push her chest forward. Her body looked so _human -_ its lines were soft, and in the faint, afternoon light her skin was almost glowing.

“So, why are you in Gotham, Charlie?” he finally asked; for a moment she remained motionless and silent - but eventually she sighed with resignation.

“Why are you asking, hunter?”

“No reason.” he replied with a shrug; he was a bit curious - but that’s all. It wasn’t intense and burning; the only intense and burning feeling hunters were allowed to keep - was weariness.

(Once there was a time when hunters were allowed to be angry; but that time was long gone.)

“Will you kick me out if I don’t tell you my story?”

“No.” he replied calmly. “But wouldn’t it be fair for me to actually _know_ something about a person I’m risking a lot for?”

“I didn’t _ask_ for it.” she shot back, crossing her arms; suddenly she looked vulnerable and fragile. “You didn’t _have_ to take me-”

“But I did.” he interrupted her. “I work for the man who wants you either dead, or locked in one of his… _Establishments._ ” he drawled. “Me? I don’t _care_ about what he wants or needs, I only want him to _think_ I’m trustworthy. But, considering you’re stuck here for a time being… You might as well show some decency and tell me something about yourself. Such as… How comes you’re in this mess in a first place.”

That was not the only thing he was vaguely curious about; it was the second time he let her drain some of his energy, the second time he served as her feeder - and yet not even once he as much as caught a glimpse of her true form. No succubus - especially a hungry one - could go on forever without ever changing back into their true form. After all, the succubi weren’t just beautiful; they were still demons, they had to resort to magic to lure humans in, to make them ignore their tails and hooves and horns.

(Obviously there _were_ people who were into that original form; Oswald, for one, didn’t really mind. He hunted ghouls and drowners and rotfiends for a living - and a pair of hooves and a tail suddenly becomes a lot less disturbing when one still has the odor of death linger in his nostrils.)

“I guess you’re right.” she sighed, sitting down on the bed with her legs crossed. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start at the end.” he suggested, and she shot him an amused look. “What? It’s my standard MO, when investigating. Find a corpse… And figure everything out, starting with a corpse, ending with a… Whoever it was before it became a corpse. And what… Corpse-ified them.”

“Corpse-ified?” she repeated after him, raising her eyebrows; he nodded solemnly. “Well, if you say so.”

“Go on then. How did you end up in monster’s lair?”

“...pardon?”

“Why did you come to Falcone looking for help.” he said, cocking his head, looking at her attentively. “He’s not the best choice, anyone could tell you that.”

“Well, I… I was directed to him.” she said, suddenly sounding abashed.

“Directed by _who_?” he pressed, furrowing his brows; the only people who’d direct a lonely succub to Falcone were people directly working with him; getting as much girls as possible into his establishments was in their best interests. “Did Fish tell you to go ask him for help?”

“I don’t know who that is.” she said reluctantly. “An old incubus told me to ask the Black Mask… And that’s what I did.”

Oz nodded quietly. He had heard of the Black Mask, a shadowy, nearly omnipotent figure, always ready to exchange favors with those in need. For a brief time, he considered going to the Mask and to ask for his assistance - but the Mask had his price. It varied from person to person; and when dealing with Mask, one had to pick their words carefully.

(An urban legend says that a man once came to Mask, asking him to help him cure his daughter of lycanthropy; and Mask gave him a gun, loaded with a silver bullet.)

“That was not a clever thing to do.” he finally said, and Charlie sighed. “You fell for the oldest trick in Mask’s book.”

“I should have realized that when he told me his price.” she muttered; Oswald squinted.

“Tell me the deal.” he said, leaning back against the pillows. “Verbatim. What did you ask for?”

“Protection.” she said hesitantly. “I said… I’m looking for protection, for safety. I thought he’d give me a talisman.” she added, seeing Oswald’s face. “Or a safe place to stay. But instead he directed me to Falcone.”

“And… What was his price? What did he want from you in return?”

“Everything.” she said, sounding helpless; and he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Except for the clothes on my back.”

“And you accepted.”

“And I accepted. I had no idea… Does Black Mask work with Falcone?” she suddenly asked; and Oswald shook his head.

“To my knowledge, they’re actually rivals. Falcone doesn’t as much as hold a candle to Mask - considering Mask is the best bloody sorcerer in all of Gotham, and Falcone is just a fat Italian bastard with a loaded bank account and lots of guns - but they’re not exactly friends. The amount of times Falcone called me in the middle of the night to help him deal with someone - or something - Mask had sent after Falcone’s cargo… I lost count after the first fifty.”

“So _why_ would he direct me to his rival?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. What _exactly_ did Mask tell you?”

“To go to Falcone. That… That I’ll find protection there.”

“...oh.” he muttered, already having his suspicions. “Aight. But let’s go back. You came to Gotham for a reason - why? What happened? Who _are_ you?”

“I’m a succubus.” she said nervously, crossing her arms again and looking away. “My name’s Charlie.”

“Don’t make me use a Sigil on you.” he said quietly; she looked at him with disbelief. “Don’t make that face. I’m immune to your charms - but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to _my_ magic. I can get the truth out of you with Sibru.”

“Do it then.” she said with defiance, raising her head and looking him in the eye. “Go on.”

But he shook his head.

“I don’t have to.” he said lazily; her eyes widened. “Since you _did_ give Mask everything you had - it’s clear you’re all about paying your debts. You _owe_ me. And I want you to repay this debt by telling me what brought you to Gotham in first place.”

“I keep forgetting hunters are all about logic.” she sighed; he laughed bitterly.

“Logic, huh? That’s a funny word for _sheltering someone I was supposed to kill_.”

“How many succubi like me _did_ you kill though?” she asked, looking at him attentively. “You spared me, for… Whatever reason. Is it because you enjoyed sleeping with me, hunter?”

“I don’t kill your kind.” he replied with a shrug. “It’s all Falcone’s fault, really. When he first ordered me to clean up his mess after he failed to convince another demon to allow him to lock her up in one of his clubs… He never _specified_ what he means. Sure, he _did_ hand me a gun, and a chainsaw, and some plastic bags - but he never said anything about _killing_ anyone. So I sold the chainsaw to some garbage collectors and bought that girl a bus ticket. Girl? Disposed of. Body? Nowhere to be found.”

“A hunter with a _moral_ code?” Charlie asked softly, and Oz shrugged again. _Being normal_ was his goal, after all; and regular, normal people - they have moral codes.

(And identities and memories and emotions.)

“There’s more to me than meets the eye.” he said, wishing it was true; there was not a lot to him as a person, since he barely even _was_ one in the first place. “So, no more foreplay. Just tell me why are you in Gotham.”

“I’m from New York.” she said with a sigh. “Wanna hear my sob story, hunter?”

“It’s Oz. Now… Tell me.”

And she did; and it was not a fun story.

***

She was born and raised in New York, to a wealthy couple; by itself, that was not too shocking - history knew inhumans that lived and thrived in a public spotlight. According to her, her parents were loving and good - and her life was comfortable and safe.

Maybe too comfortable, maybe too safe. She never learned to be careful - since she never had to. She never had to watch her every step - there would always be someone to clean up her mess.

“Did you kill people?” Oz interrupted her; Charlie scoffed.

“No, of course not! Mother… Mother helped me pick people to feed off that wouldn’t end up dead and dry.”

“Not even during your first feeding?” he asked, scratching the back of his head; she looked away.

“It’s… Complicated.”

“So you _did.”_ he said quietly; she shook her head.

“I didn’t. But it’s still complicated.”

She never learned to be careful - but to be honest, her parents had _forgot_ to be careful. All three of them - they trusted a wrong person, a wrong man. Not a good person - but an absolutely brilliant actor.

“We went out for a few dates, it was nice. It was fun.”

“Did you fall in love with him?”

“Maybe.” she replied, not looking at him. “Why, are you trying to find out what _love_ feels like?”

“I’m kind of curious, yeah.” he admitted; he only knew love from written descriptions, and from movies; but he never _heard_ someone talk about it. “Will you call me _a tactless prick_ if I now ask you to describe love to me?”

“So it’s true what they say about hunters. Tactless pricks, every single one.” she said; and from her tone - he couldn’t quite figure out if she means it. “Do you really want to hear it?”

“Yes.”

She fell in love with a wrong man; and it felt like a sense of belonging. Not _to_ someone - but _with_ someone. Like everything suddenly started to make sense, like she solved the most complex puzzle in the universe. It felt like a reason to wake up the next day, it felt like not freezing in the blizzard.

It all sounded complex and unimaginable; but he nodded, wondering if she can see in his eyes that he has no idea how to relate to anything she’s saying.

“I fell for him. My parents… They kind of did as well, actually. They… They told him who are they. _What_ are they.”

“Well, you’ve now piqued my interest as well.”

“Let me guess.” she said with a faint smile. “You’re trying to ask me how comes I don’t have goat legs and horns.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“My parents are… _Were…_ ” she corrected herself with a bitter smile “A shapeshifter and an incubus.”

“Oooooh.” he muttered, nodding. “That makes sense. So, what kind of hybrid are you?”

“I’m… What?”

“How did your genes mix.” he said, glancing at her. “Best of both worlds? _Worst_ of both worlds?”

“I’m twice as hungry, and my shapeshifting only goes as far as hiding my true form.” she said reluctantly. “So… Worst? I’m sorry, I’m not-”

“-used to looking at yourself through the lens of hunter-made labels? It’d be worrisome if you _were_ used to it.”

“Stop interrupting me.” she said coldly. “Yes, this is more or less what I wanted to say - but you still need to learn your place in this conversation.”

He raised his eyebrows; but nodded without saying anything, and she smiled lightly.

“That’s a good human. So, where was… Oh, right. My parents trusted Harry Spencer - we all did.”

And he used that trust, in the ugliest way possible; he masterminded a complex scheme, an entire plot against their entire family. He put a lot of effort into it, invented a lot of people who never existed; he used the rising pro-human movements of New York as his ink, and he had written the Schiller-Aberdeen a story about their horrifying fate. He even wrote them a way out - a _very_ costly one.

Except their assets were protected - it was a fairly new addition to the global banking systems, and it was mostly used by those rich enough to have _actual_ assets. It worked a lot like password-protected zip files - they could be freely transferred, but they were absolutely useless without a password.

And Harry knew it; and he needed Charlie - because she _knew_ that password.

***

“So, more or less… I’m hiding from him. Also I’m broke. _Extra_ broke, thanks to my deal with the Mask.” she said bitterly. “There. Happy?”

“So not only I have to hide the fact you’re alive from Falcone, I also need to hide you from… _Who_ exactly is that man anyway?”

“I should go.” she said, getting up; hastily she started to collect her clothes. “I wasted your time, I- I should…”

Suddenly she dropped everything and hid her face in her hands.

“Hey.” he said, trying to figure out what _now_. “I… I’ve got an idea.”

“Y-yeah?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“Let’s pretend I’m just a normal human.” he said awkwardly; he didn’t want her to leave, to disappear. He didn’t _crave_ her company - but hunters were meant to be solitary creatures, and he didn’t _want_ to be a hunter.

(They were supposed to be above morality, and helping her seemed like a moral thing to do.)

“...what do you mean?”

“Let’s pretend I’m human.” he repeated. “And if I _were_ human… You could use your magic on me. _Make_ me help you.”

She looked at him hesitantly; there was a spark of suspicion in her eyes.

“Why?” she finally asked. “You said it yourself - I’m a problem. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“It’s a human thing to do.” he replied quietly. “You’re a broke cross-species hybrid on the run. I’m…”

“...yes?”

“I have no idea who am I.” he finally admitted tiredly. “I don’t remember who I was, before I became a hunter. I used to have a life, a family - but I can’t remember them.”

“There are spells.” Charlie suggested softly, sitting back down. “Magic can do the unimaginable.”

But Oswald shook his head.

“I’ve tried.” he said with a shrug. “And it… Let’s just say it didn’t work.”

(As soon as the magic reached the blank spots where his memories should be the pain that caused them to vanish returned and it felt like his brain’s being stabbed with white hot iron.)

“Is that why you’re helping me? To… Feel human?”

“Maybe.” he muttered. “What, no further questions about my motives? About why am I working against Falcone?”

“No.” she said with a shrug. “I trust you, h… I trust you, Oz.” she corrected herself. “Black Mask told me I’ll find safety and protection if I go to Falcone. And in a way… He was right.”

She wasn’t looking him in the eye when she said it; maybe she wasn’t a good liar. Maybe she knew he’d see the lie in her eyes. But Oswald didn’t care - he didn’t care about anything, to be honest.

***

And that’s how she ended up in his life - in his one-room flat with a tiny bathroom and an even smaller kitchen. It took him some refurnishing and rearranging and several trips to Home Depot and Ikea - but eventually the place did get more suitable for two habitants.

He also had to get back to actually making money, rather than living off what he had stashed in his drawers; he had to start taking contracts again. But he didn’t mind - he never minded _anything_.

“I’ll repay you.” Charlie promised him. “Every last penny, you’ll get it back.”

“No, you won’t.” Oswald muttered; he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to get the last speck of blood off his face. “Remember what Mask took as his payment?”

“E… Everything.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Oz muttered. “So, as soon as you get your money back - _if_ you get your money back… Mask will most likely pop out and demand you hand it over.”

“So what should I do?” she asked desperately; in her voice he heard she’s about to cry. “I don’t want to spend rest of my life hiding here!”

“You’ll figure something out.” he stated, wiping his hands with a towel. “Use Mask’s own weapon against him. He asked for everything you have - and you gave it to him. Done, finished. You didn’t _own_ those money back then.”

“And… You think it’ll work?”

“If you say it like you mean it - sure.” he said with a shrug; and her face lit up.

(He learned how to cheer her up fairly quickly; and he also discovered he much prefers it when she’s happy, rather than on the brink of tears.)

“You’re leaving again?” she asked as he was putting his penguin mask back together.

“I have a meeting with Falcone.” he said. “He wants a report regarding that whole mess with the wyvern that ate his debtors.”

“And… Did you _make_ any progress?”

“‘Course not.” he replied, looking at her over his shoulder. “I was too busy killing off drowners for the mayor. Food and bills cost money, you know.”

“I know. Do you… Want me to cook something when you’re out?”

“And burn the entire building down? No, I think I’m good. I’ll get some Chinese on my way back.”

“Be safe.” she said quietly; and he nodded and left.

It’s been a couple of weeks since she showed up in his life again; and he surely didn’t mind the companionship. It was complicated, since he was still devoid of emotions; but at least he started to have wishes, and wants, and cravings. One more step towards normality.

(Sometimes when he was with her - it seemed like he’s on the edge of feeling something.)

He got to his meeting with Falcone a few minutes early; and Carmine was still busy, as his ridiculously bulky bodyguard informed him.

“S’alright.” Oz muttered, sinking into a nearby leather chair and closing his eyes. “I’ll wait.”

With his face hidden by the mask, he closed his eyes and focused his hearing on what was happening in Falcone’s office. The mafioso was having a heated discussion with someone; a woman, named Sofia.

The name rang some distant bell in Oswald’s clouded memory; melodious and sweet-

_so unlike sofia herself, right, sky?_

His eyes snapped open as he heard the childish voice inside. He couldn’t breath; and he felt like his body is on fire.

He remembered.

Not a whole lot, only bits and pieces - but he _remembered_. There used to be a Sofia, and she was quiet and sharp; and for a moment his body was no longer tall and lean and quick and strong, for a brief moment he was a child - but his mind was still mostly empty. His name was Oswald; and his fists were bruised.

The door to Falcone’s office opened and a young woman marched out; Oz only caught a glimpse of her - a quick flash of dark hair, a picture he remembered very vividly.

_So that was not my mother then. Oh, well._

“Penguin. You’re early.”

“Being early’s better than being late.” he replied, getting up and walking into the office. “Who was that?”

“No one in any way relevant to you.” Falcone replied after a pause; it was oddly long, as if he wasn’t expecting the question and needed time to process it. “Mind your own business, Penguin.”

“Right. Sorry.”

The mafioso shot him a mocking smile; and Oswald stared at him from behind the mask, trying to force himself to feel something, anything.

***

“So you’re saying you _remembered_ something?”

They were sitting on the couch; empty Chinese takeout boxes were piled on the coffee table in front of them.

“Mmhmmm.” he muttered, swallowing the last noodle and putting his chopsticks down. “I think.”

“You… Don’t seem to be too happy about it.”

“I’m not happy about _anything_. I don’t have feelings, remember?”

“See, that’s what I just don’t get.”

“Jesus.” he muttered, rolling his eyes; they already had this conversation a few times.

She scoffed.

“Don’t do this, you know I hate it when you roll your eyes at me.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Sorry.” he muttered; and she grinned with satisfaction.

“That’s a good human. But I _really_ don’t understand.” she added. “Emotions… Emotions are just chemical reactions. You can’t just _stop_ them from happening.”

“Well, whatever they’re doing to hunters… _Does_ stop them from happening.”

“But it doesn’t!” she said angrily, shaking her head violently. “It _doesn’t_.”

“Oh, this is going to be _great_.” he muttered. “Charlie, we _talked_ about it. I don’t feel _shit_.”

It always went the same; him insisting he doesn’t feel anything, and her insisting it’s impossible.

“You always order the same food - because you _like_ it! It’s an _emotion_!”

“Liking kimchi isn’t an emotion, you know.”

“But _liking_ something is!” she said with frustration. “Enjoyment is an emotion! Affinity, pleasure - those are _emotions_!”

“It’s _physical_.” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “My taste buds come into reaction with kimchi and they like it. They come into reaction with pickled ginger - and they _don’t_ like it. Physical sensations, Charlie. My body prefers some over the others.”

“I don’t believe you.” she said stubbornly; and absentmindedly he wondered if he’d like that stubborness of hers if he had any at all preferences regarding interpersonal relationships. “Know what? I think those feelings are there, somewhere. They’re just… Blocked.”

“Maybe.” he said with a shrug. “But in my line of work the lack of feelings is for the best. I’d rather _have_ them - but that lack of them does come in handy.”

“I _know_ you have feelings.” she said quietly; and something in her tone made him look at her. “I know it. I see it in your eyes.”

“What, in my viper eyes?”

“When you’re feeding me.” she said stubbornly. “When I’m feeding off you, and I look at you… There’s _something_ there, Oz. I can see it. I can _feel_ it. You said it yourself - hunters are most vulnerable when drunk or high or having sex. Maybe _this_ is why.”

“On that we can agree. I think I’m as close as it gets to feeling during the climax.” he stated; and she rested her chin atop of his shoulder, staring at him.

“What, are you hungry _again_?”

“You spoiled me.” she muttered, brushing his jawline with her lips. “Got me used to having you whenever I please.”

“I don’t mind.” he said quietly as she placed a light kiss on his neck; he could feel the hair at the back of his neck stand up, as they always did, under her electric kisses.

“I like you, hunter. But… There’s one thing I want to know.”

“Oh?”

She slid onto his lap, and rested her forehead against his; her lips were inches away from his and he suddenly realized she had never kissed him.

(He had no idea why did this thought suddenly occur to him.)

“See, I’ve been wondering…”

Her fingertips began a slow journey across his face; she touched his lips gently and he had a sudden impulse to kiss her fingertips - but he didn’t, and instead remained motionless as she touched his chin and his jaw and his adam’s apple.

“You’ve been feeding me.” she finally said, not taking her eyes off him; she slid her hand down his clothed chest, until it reached his belt. “You’ve been sleeping with me, because more or less… My _life_ depends on it.”

She paused for a moment, as if she was waiting for him to say something; but he remained silent. He only had one thing to say - and his best guess was, it’d probably hurt her feelings.

And he took no joy in hurting her feelings, same way he took no joy in anything.

(Not just _her_ life.)

“But…” she eventually continued. “I can’t help, but wonder… Would you still do it if I _wasn’t_ a succubus?”

Would he?

He looked at her silently; and tried to look beneath the alluring perfection of her form. He looked at her almond eyes, and full lips, and perky breasts and slim wrists; and he tried to imagine a scenario where she wasn’t dangerous, where her hunger wasn’t a threat.

Would he?

“Yes.” he replied. “I have a feeling I’d be very vain, if I had any means of building, you know, _actual_ personality. Self centered and vain. And I’d only want to surround myself with the finest, most exquisite people.”

He had no faith in what he just said; but it seemed to be just what she wanted to hear, judging from how her face lit up.

“For a hunter… You’re a charmer.” she said; he could feel her fingers toying with the buckle of his belt. “A sweet talker.”

She leaned in to kiss his neck and he closed his eyes; he wanted to be glad what he said had worked. He wanted to be glad he knows what to say and do to make people pleased; but he couldn’t.

She got him to the edge of feeling - again. She was good at it; and no wonder, because after all - she thrived off physical pleasure, thrived off appreciation.

And he was sure that if he had feelings, if he was able to feel pleasure other than physical - he’d mean every single word, every single gasp, every single moan.

“I saw that thing in your eyes again.” she told him later; her voice was slightly muffled, because she was laying on her stomach in a nearby bed.

(He was on the couch; hunters were able to fall asleep in any conditions, and his couch was comfortable, so he didn’t really mind leaving his bed to her.)

“Maybe my dick is where my emotions were relocated.” he muttered back, his eyes closed; he heard her muffled laughter. “And they’re asleep until someone wakes them.”

“But-”

“I’m tired.” he interrupted her. “Let me sleep, you fiend, or I’ll _put_ you to sleep.”

For a moment - she was quiet.

“Hey, Oz?”

“Mmmm?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

He opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the bed. Due to screens separating the bed from rest of the room he couldn’t see his demonic companion; but he knew she’s lying on her stomach, her - usually petite - body most likely spread-eagled, taking the majority of bed’s surface. He could also imagine her expression; uncertain, focused, her eyes fixed on the darkness in front of her, awaiting his answer.

When he first spared her a couple of months ago - although _spared_ was not the best word to use, considering he never planned on killing her in the first place - he told her she needs to lay low for a while. He was sure that once Falcone forgets she ever existed she’ll con some unfortunate fool out of his money and skip town; but as the time passed - it didn’t seem like she planned on leaving anytime soon, not with her crook of an ex searching for her in order to force a password out of her.

“I don’t mind your presence.” he finally replied - even though having her holed up in his studio meant giving up his privacy, being perpetually tired due to her feeding whims and having to constantly plan every earning and every spending in order to pay the bills on time, feed both of them, not go bankrupt and not arouse suspicions. Her presence was a handful - but he really didn’t mind, even though it went against everything he was taught, everything he was made to be. “You can stay.”

( _Please stay. I never wanted to be a solitary creature, I never wanted this._ )

“You’re nice.” she sighed. “Hold on, I’m going to sleep with you tonight.”

Before he reacted - or suggested _he_ sleeps with _her,_ instead of the two of them squished together on a couch - she was already next to the couch, wrapped in her blanket.

“Move over.” she muttered, pushing him to the side, practically crushing him against the backrest. “Also hold me, otherwise I’ll fall down.”

Her hair smelled like strawberries when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer; she rested her head against his chest.

“Oswald?”

“Mmmm?”

“Help me with Harry.” she said quietly, tracing abstract shapes on the back of his hand with her fingertips.”Help me lure him in, help me get my money back.”

“Aight.” he muttered with his eyes closed. “And what then?”

“Then I’ll buy your identity from Falcone.” she whispered hesitantly. “So you won’t have to work for him anymore.”

“It’s very noble of you.” he muttered, still not opening his eyes. “But he wants you dead. Or working for him.”

“So I’ll bribe someone else to do it. I want you to be free.”

“Shhhh.” he muttered. “Let me sleep, you fiend.”

“Sleep tight, hunter.”

He didn’t answer, falling asleep; but he could feel her put her hand atop of his and he could feel her warmth and her heartbeat.

_Is this what anything feels like?_

***

He actually, genuinely _felt_ something for the first time the very next day.

In the morning, Charlie seemed to be uncomfortable; and her constant yawning and dark circles under her eyes told him a lot how did the night go for _her_.

“That couch is too small for the both of us.” she complained over her oatmeal; and Oswald scoffed.

“You’re the one who insisted on joining me. Bed’s way wider.”

“Yes, but would you join me if I asked you to?”

“If you asked _nicely_ … I don’t see why not.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, wiping her mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Take a nap.” he told her, getting dressed up; she sighed.

“I wanted to go for a walk, actually. Falcone probably forgot I ever existed, your charming neighbour’s nowhere to be seen… I think I’m safe.”

“And what about Spencer?”

“Maybe I should let him find me.” she muttered, visibly trying to force her eyes to remain open. “Make him think I’m alone, vulnerable… And not under protection of a hunter.”

“You’re barely awake though. You’re not going anywhere.”

“And where are _you_ going?” she yawned.

“There’s something lurking under the Trigate Bridge again. It’s big, it has tentacles and it ate a kid last week. So first I’m going to take care of it, and then… I need to buy some stuff.”

“Alright.” she yawned, already on her way to bed. “I’m out of cocoa butter. Can you get me some?”

“Sure.” he replied, even though the drugstore where her favorite brand was being sold was completely not on the way. “Sleep tight, fiend.”

She didn’t answer; and he locked the door behind him, glancing in the direction of the door to John Doe’s apartment. It’s been a - very - long while since he last saw his generally deranged neighbour. The man seemed to have disappeared into thin air; maybe for the better. Maybe he skipped town; or maybe he assaulted one succubus too many, one with a family - or maybe a lover. Maybe someone smashed his head with a baseball bat. Maybe someone fed him to the drowners.

(For a brief moment, he pictured himself feeding Harry Spencer to the drowners; except he didn’t know what does the man look like, so he put a sack over his head.)

It was a long day for him; the thing living under the Trigate turned out to be a kraken. It was probably an eleventh kraken Oz had to deal with in Gotham alone; people there never learned to not dump their magical sludge into the river - and that was a result. An abundance of krakens, drowners and water hags.

At least the contract didn’t come from the mayor office, meaning Oz got paid right away - as opposed to city contracts. Those were _never_ a good idea; it was better to just kill something and then sell its body parts to some black market alchemist, without getting anyone from the office involved.

“Thanks a bunch.” said the girl responsible for the contract; she was the head of Dent’s campaign committee, and something in her - something in her face, her voice, her hair - made him feel same way he did when he saw the mysterious Sofia leaving Falcone’s office.

“You alright?” the girl asked him cautiously. “You’re… Pale.”

“Probably took one sip of a potion too many.” he muttered, frantically pocketing his hard-earned cash. “It… It’ll pass.”

He turned around to leave; but she stopped him.

“Wait! I need to write your name down. Harvey likes to have his books organized.”

“It’s… I’m Oswald.”

“Oswald the hunter.” she muttered quietly, writing it down. “That’s a rare name, you know. I once knew a guy named that. He was sweet.”

“Yeah?” he asked calmly. “What happened to him?”

“Dunno. Alright, you’re free to go. And thanks again, that tentacle thing was a pain in the ass.”

“Uh-uh. Take care.”

“You too, hunter.”

He slowly came home, trying to force his mind to open up to him, to tell him why did those two women made him experience a small fraction of the pain that destroyed him; but to no avail. There was something in them, in their very existence that caused his repressed memories to storm against the barrier, set up by magic; maybe he knew them, back when he was still an actual person. Maybe they resembled people he knew.

(His lack of knowledge about himself went as far as him not knowing how _old_ is he - for all he knew, he could as well be Falcone’s peer.)

When he came home, the memory of pain still lingering inside of him - Charlie was already awake.

“Oh!” she said as he was setting groceries down in the kitchen. “You look… Disastrous.”

“Do I?” he asked, glancing at her over the shoulder. “I slaughtered a kraken. Maybe that’s why.”

“You look disastrous… _In a good way_.” she said hesitantly; and something in her voice made him look at her again, with a box of frosted cereal in hand.

“What?” he finally asked, putting the cereal down; she looked at him attentively, so attentively he forgot about that stinging pain he felt back when the girl was giving him his money. “Did you just call me a _hot mess_ , fiend?”

“Maybe!” she said defensively, her cheeks suspiciously flushed; he furrowed his brows and crossed his arms, wondering what game are they exactly playing. It was odd - usually the succub was a bit snarky and rather outspoken.

“Are you sick?” he asked, returning to unpacking. “You’re… Not making a lot of sense.”

She scoffed.

“I… Realized something last night.” she finally said. “On the couch. You held me tight, and you touched my boobs once or twice-”

“You could-”

“I’m not _complaining_.” she interrupted him awkwardly. “Quite the opposite, actually. It was _nice_. And I realized… I realized I don’t remember last time I slept with someone for the sake of _my_ pleasure.” she breathed out. “Alright? It’s always someone else’s pleasure, because _this_ is what I feed off - I blow you, and you tell me you adore me, and it keeps me alive. But… You know. It’s like food!” she said, visibly more and more flustered. “It’s important, and it keeps me alive - but sometimes you just want french fries. Not very nourishing, and you won’t technically _die_ without them, but-”

“Did you just compare me to french fries?” he interrupted her calmly; her face turned red.

“French fries are _delicious_.” she said defensively. “You know?”

“So, let me get this straight… You want to have sex _just_ for the sake of doing so. No magic involved, no spells, no feeding. And you want to do it… With me?”

“Preferably.” she replied, twisting her wrists nervously. “Since, you know. I think you’re hot. And I like you. And I trust you. And I’ve spent like… Seven hours just laying there, wishing you’d _do_ something.”

“I-”

“You have no emotions, yes, I’m aware, you’ve said it approximately one thousand times already.” she interrupted him; and he raised his eyebrows and remained silent, because this was precisely what he meant to say. “I don’t want a hurricane of burning passion, or any other harlequinesque cliche. I just… Want to have some fun.”

“...can I at least take a shower first?”

“...if you must.”

When he left the bathroom, she had already stripped down to her underwear; and he wondered where had she been hiding lace all this time, because he sure as hell didn’t recall buying anything like this when he was getting her some basic clothes to replace stuff she lost when she asked Black Mask for help.

She noticed his puzzled look and laughed.

“It’s what I was wearing when you found me.” she explained. “And I washed it and kept it hidden for a… Special occasion.”

“Such as shagging an emotionless hunter?”

“Yes.” she said firmly; and he nodded silently.

It’s been a while since he last was with someone who wasn’t her; and even before she waltzed into his life - his sex life wasn’t all that eventful. He had his appeal, and it worked like a magnet for people who had something to prove; but most people couldn’t really stomach getting the deed done with someone not truly committed to what he was doing, someone emotionless.

But she didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t kiss me.” she only muttered, turning her head away. “Haven’t they taught you that in a hunter factory?”

“To not kiss a succubus? They did.” he admitted. “But they also taught me to not let one feed off me… And I was never a very willing student.”

She laughed quietly; but there was something sad in that laughter, and he remembered what she told him about falling in love.

“Don’t kiss a succubus unless you mean it, hunter. Elementary knowledge.”

“Alright. I won’t.” he promised her; her lips looked soft and he wanted to be able to mean it. Suddenly he had a moment of clear, calm realization; he wanted to mean it, he wanted to experience love - and he wanted _her_ to be the object of his love, he wanted to want her, this stubborn problem that waltzed into his life and kicked him out of his bed and whose whims and demands should be a pain in the ass and whose very presence was against everything he was made to be.

But he couldn’t mean it; so he kissed her neck instead and she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

“I’m going to guide you.” she muttered, covering his hands with hers. “Alright?”

“Mmmm-hmmm.”

And she did; she guided his hands and his mouth and even when she wasn’t feeding she was beautiful. Eventually her thoughts got too hazy, and her tongue too heavy for her to keep guiding him; but it was alright. He found the tempo, he found her spots; and with the way she was reacting to him - it almost made him believe he means every touch.

“What are you doing?” she muttered feverishly as he kissed her stomach, taking his hand away; she opened her eyes and they were so hazy it made them look even more like oceans.

“Returning the favor.” he replied, his mouth above the line of her panties, thinking back to her fingers and her tongue. “You wanted your pleasure to be the focus for once. I’m merely following up on that.”

She smiled blissfully as he pulled her undies down; and his mouth touched her, and soon nothing else mattered, only the sounds she was making and her fingers in his hair.

She arched her back so much he was sure her spine’s going to snap; and she pulled him closer when he raised his head to ask her if it _really_ is a good idea.

“Don’t say a word, hunter.” she whispered, holding his face in her trembling hands. “Just please me.”

And he did; and that was a first time he could _just_ experience her, and her warmth, and her presence.

She lost control over her form at one point; she let go and her magic stirred up and she started to change rapidly, all while clawing at his back, pulling him closer, closer, _closer_. She was changing and shifting, not controlling anything anymore; and he saw brief glimpses of her true form, of her markins, and her horns. He saw those glimpses and he stared, mesmerized - and something in his chest surged and swelled and flickered and flinched and he _felt_ , he _felt_ something, all while looking at her unseeing eyes and parted lips and exposed neck and listening to her sing out his name like there was no one else present in the building.

The feeling disappeared as quickly and suddenly as it appeared, and he was left numb again; except this time the numbness was almost painful, after he caught a glimpse of what he’s been missing for a good chunk of his life.

“Oz?” he heard Charlie say; she sounded distraught. “Is everything alright?”

He blinked a few times, and looked down at her; she was staring at him with concern. Her arms were still wrapped around his neck; and he realized he’s been grasping the bedsheet so tightly he probably ripped a hole in it.

“I…”

He paused for a long while, searching for the right words; she slowly unwrapped her arms and traced a line down his face.

“I think I _felt_ something.” he finally said; her eyes widened and her index finger stopped on his bottom lip.

“How comes?” she finally asked; she looked fully human again.

“I saw the _real_ you.” he said quietly; he took her hand and pressed his lips to it, not taking his eyes off her. “And I guess… I guess that’s what I needed.”

She seemed moved; but didn’t say anything, instead only staring at him.

“You can’t be serious.” she finally said, looking away. “My _goat legs_ made you _feel_ something? And what was that anyway - repulsion?”

“No!” he protested; the feeling wasn’t bad, he was sure of it. “It wasn’t just goat legs. It was… Everything.”

She slipped out from beneath him, and he rolled onto his side; she sat at the edge of the bed with her back to him, and he reached out and touched her skin with his fingertips, tracing a line.

“I don’t like my true form.” she finally said. “It’s… Gross.”

She kept her back straight; but her shoulders were trembling slightly, and she was grasping the sheets tightly.

Oswald remained silent.

“It’s a very human-centric world.” she finally said. “I don’t like the way I look underneath the magic, I don’t like the way I’d look all the time if it wasn’t for my mother’s shapeshifter genes.”

She looked at him over her shoulder before he said anything.

“Come closer.” she said, almost hesitantly. “If it’s for you… I can change back for a moment. But I need your help.”

“Aight.” he said, sitting up and moving closer. “What do you want me to do?”

“Distract me.” she replied, taking his hands; she placed one of them on her chest, and the other one on her thigh. “Touch me, kiss my neck… Do whatever, hunter. Just distract me. And… Don’t look.”

And he did; he distracted her to the best of his ability, and he was feeling her body change under his touch. Eventually - she pushed his hands away and got up.

“You can look now.” she said quietly; and he opened his eyes and looked at her.

She had her arms crossed, and her head was turned; she was looking away with her cheeks red and her lips pursed - but he could see it all.

He could see her curled horns, and he knew they’d feel rough under his fingers; he could see her markings, and they looked like splatters of dark-red paint, like imitation of freckles. Her hips and legs were covered in thick, dark fur, and they lost their delicate shape; now she had dark, cloven hooves - and around her ankles her tail was wrapped, twitching anxiously.

She didn’t look human. She looked like a threat; and it made Oswald _feel_ something again. It was almost painful, and it took his breath away; but he wanted that feeling to last, to never go away. It was confusing, and intense; feeling for the first time in years. He wanted to tell her so many things; and he wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to cry, to mourn years lost to the forced numbness.

“You’re beautiful.” he finally said; and she looked at him with disbelief.

“That in in your eyes.” she finally said. “I… It’s there again.”

“It’s an emotion.” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “I… I can’t describe it, I don’t know _what_ is it-”

“But it’s _there_.” she interrupted him softly. “Can I change back now?”

“Yes.” he replied after a long while. “Thank you, fiend.”

She changed back into her human form; and the feeling slowly went away - but the memory remained, almost as clear as memory of pain that rendered him incapable of feeling.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You should strike the iron while it’s still hot.”

“...what?” he asked hesitantly, standing in the doorway. “Were we having a conversation before I left?” he asked, despite knowing the answer; there was no conversation, because he slipped out at the break of dawn, after untangling himself from Charlie’s mass of limbs. Falcone had a task for him; some unfortunate shopkeeper was late in his protection fee - and it was time for the Penguin to squeeze the money out of the man. The mafioso also wanted some alchemical ingredients - but he didn’t want to _pay_ for them, since the underground black market was controlled by the Mask. Oz came home in late afternoon - and Charlie started talking to him as soon as he came in, the bag containing his mask and coat covered in dried up blood and mud.

“Your emotions!” she said, sounding frustrated. “Now that I’ve proven they are _there_ -”

“I only felt something once I saw your true form though.” he interrupted her, putting the bag down. “What, are you going to walk around like that all the time?”

“For you I’d actually consider it.” she shot back; and he raised his eyebrows, remembering her earlier hesitation.

Her face turned red as she realized what she just said.

“You saved my life twice!” she added hastily. “And you’re letting me stay. And you’re feeding me. And-”

“You like me and you trust me and you think I’m hot.” he interrupted her impassively. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“I like and trust you enough to ask you for help with Harry.” she muttered angrily, crossing her arms. “Because you _are_ going to help me, right?”

“Uh-uh.” he muttered, opening the fridge and sighing, seeing the empty shelves. “But we need a plan. An actual strategy.”

“Seriously?” she asked, obviously pretending to not know anything about the empty shelves. “Because I know him. He’s smart, but not _that_ smart. We don’t need a Napoleon to outsmart him.”

“He outsmarted you and your family though.” Oz pointed out; she winced slightly. “And… He’s not the only person who’d rather have you _alive_.”

“Alive or not at all.” she muttered. “What are you suggesting?”

“That if he finds out _where_ to look for you… He might team up with Falcone. Which is… Not an ideal scenario. I don’t want to double-cross Falcone, Charlie. He knows who I am, and if I double-cross him, if I kill or maim an ally of his… I’ll never find out.”

“Aww, would you really kill Harry for me?”

“Well, yeah.” he replied with a shrug. “He’s a threat, and those should be eliminated, by all means possible. Death’s definitely an option.”

“And what next? Would you bring me his head, so I could mount it on my wall, above the fireplace?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“That’s one way of winning a demon’s heart.” she muttered as he reached for his phone to order something. “So we both want to kill Harry. I’d say… Let’s take Falcone out of the equation.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” he asked tiredly. “Charlie. He _knows_ -”

“He can’t be the _only_ person in Gotham who knows who you are!” she shot back. “It’s a big city, and you said it yourself - that woman who was talking to him? You _knew_ her.”

“I said-”

“You had a flashback! Oz, _please_.” she said tiredly. “I know you’re a hunter and that your brain is all kinds of fucked up - but I’m _not_. You gotta see the bigger picture! Carmine Falcone can’t possibly be the only person who knew a boy named Oswald. I know your records got erased - by the way, don’t you think it’s _super_ fucked up how they erase the records of every boy who gets turned into a hunter? - but you can’t _live_ like this!”

“That was the most impressive tirade.” he said, his phone still in his hand. “So do you want your cheeseburger with fries, or onion rings?”

Before he knew it, she was right in front of him; she grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled, forcing him to lean in.

“Why can’t you take me _seriously?!_ ” she asked angrily; and he blinked.

“I _am_ taking you seriously though.” he replied slowly. “Which is why I’m asking you what do you want to eat. You got your point across, really.” he added, seeing her squint. “Tomorrow I’ll start looking for that Sofia woman. You have my word.”

“Good.” she said in a lighter tone, letting go of his shirt. “That’s a good human.”

“You know, I imagine I’d be scared _shitless_ if I was able to experience fear.”

“Good. I might be delicate and sweet, but I’m still a demon. Best remember that.”

“Sure. So does the demon want her cheeseburger with fries, or-”

“Both.”

“...and a vanilla milkshake and an apple pie?”

“You know me well, hunter.”

“I had to learn your ways in order to survive, fiend.” he replied, calling the bar he was ordering from. “Now hush, I’m still pretending I live alone.”

She drank half of his lemonade, and he took some of her food in return; and later that night she insisted on sleeping with him again - and this time he didn’t complain, trying to wrap his head around the idea of her for whatever reason _caring_ about him, as demonstrated by her passionate tirade about him not having to work for Falcone.

“Stop squirming.” he muttered. “What are you trying to accomplish anyway?”

“Please me.” he replied quietly; and her breath quickened when his hands slipped under the fabric of her clothes. She couldn’t squirm too much, since it’d make her fall down; but she didn’t seem to mind.

“You know, you could’ve squirm much more if we were in _bed_.”

“Doesn’t matter.” she breathed out. “I… Quite like not being able to squirm.”

“Oh.” he said; she took him by surprise and his fingers stopped for a moment.

“Don’t stop, hunter.”

“Say _please_.” he replied without thinking; she laughed quietly.

“What?!”

“Say _please_.” he repeated. “Come on. Ask nicely. You’re used to having me whenever you please. Just this once… _Ask_ for it.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered; she pressed against him with her whole body. “Alright. _Please_.”

People so rarely _asked_ him for anything - it almost made him feel something, even if she was asking for something he wasn’t going to refuse her anyway.

“You should use that word more often, you know.”

“I might start.” she breathed out as his fingers found their way inside her again. “Hhhhhaaaaa. _Yes,_ just like _this-_ ”

“Like _this_?” he asked, circling her clit with his thumb; she nodded breathlessly, and moments later she was arching her back and he had to hold her to stop her from falling onto the floor.

“Happy now?”

“Mmm-hmm.” she muttered. “You know, that first time we slept like this… I kinda hoped you’d do this.”

“Then why didn’t you _say_ so?” he asked with his eyes closed. “We talked about it. You know I don’t have anything-”

“Because I hoped you’d figure it out.” she interrupted him, laughing quietly. “But you didn’t. So it was a long night I’ve mostly spent on wondering _how much accidental wiggling will it take to get him hard_. But… I guess I forgot you’re resilient to my seductive charms.”

“Next time just say.” he muttered, slowly drifting off. “Also be quiet. I want to get some sleep.”

“Sleep tight, hunter.”

“Mmmm.”

***

He had several options regarding finding the mysterious Sofia; but he decided to go with the easiest one. Falcone’s secretary - Esme - owed him a favor after he un-hexed the cursed ring she bought for a few pennies for her wife; and he decided this is the right moment to call it in. The only problem was - Esme was always somewhere near Carmine, and Oswald was well aware of the fact Falcone has eyes in the back of his head and that walls have ears. The mafioso explicitly told Oswald to mind his own business; which meant he had to call in yet another favor.

“Vale!”

He cornered the journalist as she was buying herself a hot dog; she look at him with a mix of interest and concern.

“Hello, Penguin.” she sighed. “Long time no see.”

“Can you maybe _not_ refer to me this way in broad daylight?”

“Sorry.” she replied with a shrug, taking a bite. “What brings you to this part of Gotham anyway? An errand?”

“Yes and no.” he said, motioning towards the nearby dark alley. “Walk with me.”

Vale laughed nervously.

“Oh, fuck _no._ ” she stated, shaking her head vigorously; he sighed.

“I’m not going to kill you, Vale. I’m showing my face. This is not…”

He paused for a moment, looking around; no one seemed to be eavesdropping.

“This has nothing to do with Falcone.” he said quietly. “I mean, it _does_ , but I’m working against his back. And you… You _owe_ me.”

“Unfortunately… Yeah, I do.” she sighed; she finished her snack and wiped her hands with a paper napkin. “Alright. What do you want?”

They stepped into the alley and out of the way; he leaned against the wall, and she crossed her arms.

“I need you to get me in touch with one of the reporters at Gotham Gazette.” he finally said, and Vicki raised her eyebrows.

“Do you have someone _specific_ in mind?” she eventually asked. “Come on, I don’t have a whole day.”

“Haze.”

“Well, fuck.” she sighed. “Did you absolutely _have_ to pick my sworn rival? Couldn’t it be Ito? Gillen? Remarque?”

“Only if one of them is also married to Falcone’s secretary.” he replied with a shrug; Vale sighed again.

“Fine, I’ll get it done. By the way… How are you doing these days? Last time we’ve met you were…”

“Covered in blood and threatening to kill you if you don’t drop the investigation? Not my proudest moment.” he said and she laughed.

“Do you even have _any_ proud moments, hunter?”

He was called _hunter_ a lot during the recent weeks; and the way Vicki Vale used that word was nothing like the way Charlie did. The difference was inexplicable; but it was there.

He didn’t like the way Vicki said it; but he liked the way _Charlie_ said it.

“I do, actually. I killed a kraken recently.” he said with a shrug. “So, you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now give me some way of contacting you. And… How to refer to you.”

“Tell her I’m her wife’s work friend.” he muttered, scribbling down his phone number on a piece of paper he fished out of his pocket. “She’ll know what it means.”

“Sure.” Vale said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Good hunting, hunter.”

“Good… Journaling.” he said hesitantly; she shook her head and left.

Few hours later - when he was in the middle of cutting some Screecher tongues out, since he found another nest in a basement of an abandoned building, and he knew at least one alchemist who was constantly running short on Screecher tongues thanks to taxes on shipments, as well as Falcone and Mask’s involvement in the market - his battered phone rang.

The fact Haze didn’t want anything from him in exchange for getting him in touch with his wife was surprising; but it also made things a lot simpler. After less than half an hour, he knew who was he looking for - Falcone’s only daughter. It made sense for Carmine to not want Penguin to fraternize with his daughter; it was quite common for hunters to break hearts with their own lack of emotional attachment.

_Sofia Falcone._

The name rang a bell; a flash of dark hair, a glimpse of olive skin, a bruised elbow, torn satine dress, a girl screaming _vaffanculo!_ at the top of her lungs.

“Sofia often hangs out at the Nightwraith.” Esme added, bringing Oz back to Earth. “You could ask around there.”

“Thanks, Esme.” he muttered in response, wondering what exactly is Falcone’s daughter doing at a gay bar in the Slavic Quarter, the one part of town Falcone had absolutely no influence in. “And… Keep this between us, alright?”

“There’s no need to involve don in our private lives, I get it. Good hunting, hunter.”

His next step - after selling the tongues - was home, since he had to get cleaned up.

“I’m on the right track.” he answered Charlie’s silent question after leaving the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. “You’re… Staring.”

“You’re looking tasty, and I’m _hungry_.”

“I thought succubi are not supposed to drain people so often.” he said with confusion as she pulled him closer.

“I prefer having several small meals over having one really huge.” she replied, already unwrapping his towel.

After she was finished feeding off him - and he was gasping for air - she announced she wants him to make her mac’n’cheese before he goes out.

“And make it _cheesy_.”

“I can sense you trying to use your magic on me, you know.”

“I just like to make sure I get what I want, that’s all.”

Finally he got dressed - minus the mask, which he carried in a bag - and embarked on his journey to the Slavic Quarter.

The district was relatively small - and relatively populated. Gotham’s slavic population was surprisingly big; even if it wasn’t obvious at a first glance, because the majority of Quarter’s residents rarely - if ever - left their part of town. They had everything on hand anyway; stores, offices, a police precinct - and bars, including the Nightwraith. It was not its true name; the actual name was a Polish word the majority of Gotham citizens couldn’t even pronounce. _Północnica -_ that’s how Gotham’s biggest gay bar was called.

Oz found the name ironic, if not downright sad; it was not uncommon for closeted gay women from all shades of the rainbow to end up as nightwraiths after being stuck in loveless relationships that were only one step above business contracts. Maybe it was a way for the local gay population to reclaim some of the suffering caused to them by others; or maybe the bar owner simply thought she’s being clever. Oz didn’t care - all he cared about that night was finding Sofia Falcone and asking her that one, burning question.

“I’m looking for Sofia Falcone.” he asked the bartender; no one seemed to give a crap about his mask. In fact, many people were wearing masks - though none of them was as elaborate, functional or menacing as Oswald’s.

“Never heard of ‘er.” the bartender replied, without as much as looking at him; so Oz rolled his eyes and resorted to magic.

“ _I’m looking for Sofia Falcone._ ” he repeated, quickly folding a Sibru Sigil; not the most powerful version though, since he only wanted an answer.

“She’s out in the back.” the bartender replied in a monotone voice; Oswald nodded, deactivating the Sigil.

“Wear some protection.” he said, walking away. “The next hunter using his Sigils on you might not be as nice as I am.”

The bartender wasn’t lying - of course she wasn’t - Sofia really was standing in the dark alley behind the bar, smoking.

“Sofia Falcone.” he greeted her from the shadows.

She turned around quickly and rolled her eyes as soon as she saw him.

“My father’s attack dog.” she said coldly, taking a drag. “Did he send you?”

“No.”

“Curious.” he said, squinting slightly. “I have nothing to tell you, Penguin.”

She tried to walk past him; but he stopped her by putting his hand on her shoulder.

She looked at it with disbelief, and then slowly looked up.

“Are you _sure_ you want to be bothering the daughter of Carmine Falcone?” she asked quietly. “My father-”

“Please, Sofia.” he interrupted her. “I want to talk.”

“Then talk.” she said, not taking her eyes off him. “I’m all ears, _dog_.”

“I’m not working for your father because I _want_ to.” he said, slowly taking his mask off. “Look me in the eye. What do you see?”

“Normal colorization.” she said indiffirently. “And unnatural pupils. You’re a hunter.”

“And our records are erased as soon as we’re… _Made_. Many of us lose our memories in the process.”

“And what does my family have to do with it?”

“Your father claims he knows me. He knows who I was, who I could be - before I forgot. And he’s willing to tell me that - in exchange for a decade of unpaid, no questions asked service.”

“And what do _I_ have to do with it?” she asked; suddenly she sounded way less confident. “Let me guess. You want to kidnap me, so you can use me as a bargaining chip.”

“Something in your tone tells me this would _probably_ not work.”

“Many people have tried kidnapping me. Many people grossly overestimated my father’s attachment to me.” she added bitterly. “So you don’t want to kidnap me.”

“I think I know you.” he finally said; her eyes widened in surprise. “Or… Used to, back when I was still a _person_. Because when I saw you, and when I learned your name… I had flashbacks, Sofia.”

“What… What’s your name, hunter?” she asked hesitantly.

“Oswald. Or-”

“Oz.” she finished quietly. “My god. Oz Cobblepot.”

“C… Cobblepot?” he repeated; there was a Cobblepot park in Gotham, and the Cobblepots used to be a mighty and rich family - but no one spoke about them anymore, after they fell from grace and faded into obscurity. “I’m a Cobblepot?”

“You’re the _last_ Cobblepot.” she corrected him. “My god. Oz. I…”

“Were we friends, Sofia?” he asked her quietly; she laughed.

“ _Best_ of friends.” she corrected him again. “Four of us. You, me, Skyler Hill, Bruce Wayne. And then everything went to _hell_.”

“I’m a Cobblepot.” he repeated again. “I… I’m Oswald _Cobblepot_.”

“Oswald _Chesterfield_ Cobblepot.”

“Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.” he repeated; he wanted to feel _delight_ ; but he couldn’t. “Are you _sure_ that’s me?”

“Yes.” she said firmly. “There was only one person named Oswald in my life - and it was _you_. The boy who beaten Tommy Elliot with a stick for tearing my dress. _God_ , I missed you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” he said, almost feeling angry at how _numb_ he was. “Wait. I was friends with _Bruce Wayne_?”

“I’m surprised _he_ didn’t give you a flashback. He’s everywhere these days.”

“Maybe flashbacks don’t work with photos.” he suggested with a shrug. “And my path of a lowly hunter never really crossed with the one of Bruce Wayne.”

He could feel he’s on the edge of disappointment; he was half-expecting his memories and emotions to magically appear once he learns his identity, his origin - but he still felt and remembered nothing.

Sofia most likely saw it in his eyes.

“Hey. Chin up.” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “Now you can at least cut ties with my father. That’s _something_ , right?”

“Sure.” he replied indifferently; Sofia sighed.

“Tell you what. Give me a few days, and your number - and I’ll… Try to get you in touch with someone.”

“With _who,_ exactly?”

“Black Mask.” she said matter-of-factly. “He’s been experimenting with neuromagic recently. Heard he’s been looking for a volunteer to run his experiments on.”

“Well, gosh.” Oz muttered. “Out of all the people in Gotham… It _had_ to be your father’s business rival.”

“As opposed to my father, Mask doesn’t make the mistake of underestimating me.” Sofia said with a shrug. “It’s quite the opposite, actually. He values me.”

“Are you sure he’s not valuing you just because you’re a Falcone?”

“If that’s the case… He’s dead.” she said with a careless shrug. “But you’re not here to talk about my relationship with the man my father wants dead. It’s not like _that_.” she added, seeing him raise his eyebrows. “Though you’re not the first one to suspect it.”

“I doubt it’d be the oddest affair in Gotham.”

“Say one more word about my nonexistent _affair_ with the Mask and I’m leaving.” she warned him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll be good now. Let’s pretend I never said anything about it, let’s pretend we’ve been talking about… Neuromagic.”

“Powerful stuff, but… He needs someone to test his innovations on. Someone who can withstand it. Someone not quite human.”

“This… Sounds like a disastrous idea.”

“So… It’s a _no_ from you?”

“What? No, no. It’s a _yes_. My life had recently been just a very long streak of disastrous ideas.” he added with a shrug seeing Sofia’s surprised expression. “So I don’t see why I shouldn’t add one more to the mix.”

“Wanna talk about it? We’re in a _bar_ , after all.” Sofia asked, cocking her head.

“You know what? Fine. Let’s have a drink or two.”

“Magnifico! Come on then, I know an incubus who might want to go home with you.” she stated, already reaching for the door handle; but Oz shook his head.

“No, no. I… It’s complicated.” he said evasively, remembering Sofia is still Carmine’s daughter. “But I’m not taking anyone home tonight.”

“Then maybe someone will take _you_ home tonight.”

The incubus Sofia mentioned was absolutely charming; all of them were. He had a Roman nose and his dark skin was laced with spirals of golden glitter, drawing attention to his eyes, green like fresh grass. Any other year, Oz would probably just shrug and give in to the man’s seductive smiles; but he wasn’t living alone anymore. There was someone depending on him - someone who needed him to come back home.

“Sorry, handsome.” he said, gently pushing the incubus away. “Not interested.”

“Oh, well.” the man said with a smile and a shrug. “Good hunting, hunter.”

And just like that, he was gone; and Sofia set two glasses down on their table, a berry daiquiri for herself, and a singapore sling for him.

How comes you’re working with Black Mask?” Oz asked, examining his glass. “You’re a Falcone.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Sofia said, shaking her head. “I’m not going to just tell you my secrets, Oz. No offense, but… First I need to know I can _trust_ you.”

“You already told me you’re working with him though.”

“Because this is _not_ a secret.” Sofia said with a shrug. “Everyone knows it, including my father.”

“Alright.” Oz said slowly, deciding to leave his further questions for later; instead he raised his glass. “Here’s to reunions, I guess.”

“Here’s to reunions.”

They talked for a couple of hours; but it was an odd conversation, both of them careful to not reveal too much, both of them not quite sure if they truly can trust the other one. He didn’t mention his demonic friend; she didn’t say why does she hang out in the Slavic Quarter, of all the places in Gotham.

“So, this… Neuromagic…”

“It’s still a new territory.” Sofia said with a nod. “In most cases, the memory erasure process is irreversible - your brain can’t go through the same shit twice in two directions, because it’ll melt. But, when it comes to hunters… Your brain’s not only laced with magic that _protects_ it. The memories - Mask claims they’re not gone. They’re _there_. Just… Out of your reach.”

“So… Hidden system files when you’re not the administrator?”

“More or less, yeah. They’re there, they take up space - and you have a chance of removing whatever’s between you and them.”

“Huh.”

He silently wrote his phone number on a paper napkin and handed it to Sofia; she pocketed it with a nod.

“Let me know if Mask wants to work on me, and what’s his price.” he said quietly, already having made his mind. “I’m all his. What F… What _your father_ could offer me was my name. What Mask has to offer… Is _priceless_. I can work for him for as long as he wants me to.”

“Hold your horses.” Sofia said, laughing quietly. “First let me talk to him. _Then_ you can start spouting out declarations of undying loyalty and endless supply of ghoul brains. But whatever you do… Don’t cut ties with my father yet.”

“Wasn’t going to. He knows where I live.”

“Then it’s a deal.” she said, getting up. “I’ll be going, I’ll let you know what’s up in a few days. In the meantime… It’s really good to see you again, Oz.” she blurted out. “Even if you don’t actually remember me, even if it doesn’t _mean_ anything to you… I’m glad to know you’re in one piece.”

“I still can’t believe I used to have a friends group that consisted of you, Bruce Wayne and someone related to mayor Hill. How did this even _happen_?”

“We were a lot like Romeo and Juliet, except platonic and with more people dying.”

He nodded, and she left; he left shortly after and went straight home. It was well past midnight when he returned; his demonic roomie was asleep, and he could see a half-eaten bowl of now cold mac’n’cheese on the coffee table.

“Oz?” she muttered sleepily as he was putting his keys down on the kitchen counter; she sat up on the bed, rubbing her eyes. “Is that you?”

“Mmmhmm. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’alright.” she muttered, getting up and shuffling towards him, squinting as the light irritated her eyes. “So, how did it go?”

“You’re half asleep. This can wa-”

“No, it can’t.” she interrupted him impatiently. “Tell me, hunter.”

“I learned what my full name is.” he replied calmly; her eyes widened. “I learned what family I come from. I learned who my childhood friends were.”

“Oswald, this is _incredible_!” she said, sounding delighted; at least _she_ was happy about it.

“I’ve also learned there’s a certain someone in Gotham who might try and restore my memories.” he added, still numb. “It was… A good learning experience.”

Charlie squealed happily; but he was still _empty_. And she must’ve seen it in his face, because she walked up to him and hesitantly put her hand on his shoulder.

“But what about your emotions?” she asked quietly; and Oz shook his head.

“Still nothing.” he said quietly, tiredly. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”

“Oz, wait.” she said as he walked past her, already taking his shirt off; he stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Look at me, hunter.”

So he did; and he saw her true form again, in its inhuman, demonic perfection. He could count the markings on her skin, and he could see exactly where her smooth skin turns into thick fur - and his heart was sad, so very, very sad.

There were tears streaming down his face as he dropped down to his knees and started to sob - that night he got a taste of what was taken away from him and finally he had a chance to mourn it. His childhood friendships, the person he could be - all gone, lost forever, destroyed by this overwhelming numbness.

“It’s alright.” Charlie said quietly, putting a hand on his head, petting him gently. “Let it out.”

That night he didn’t protest when she quietly lied down next to him on the couch and when he had to pull her closer.

“So, what’s your name, hunter?” she whispered, gently brushing his hands with her fingertips. “Tell me.”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“My name’s Charlotte Beatrice Elizabeth Schiller-Aberdeen, hunter. I’m in no position to laugh at anyone’s name.”

“Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.” he muttered into her hair.

She laughed and he sighed, pulling her closer; she was still laughing when he fell asleep.

***

Black Mask wanted to meet with him at midnight, underneath the Brown Bridge.

“Can I come with you?” Charlie asked him suddenly as he was ready to leave. “Please?”

“It’s k-”

“Falcone thinks I’m _dead_.” she interrupted him. “He thinks you killed me, and dumped my body into the Gotham River. And Harry… We have to let him find me sooner or later anyway, if you want me to pay you back. Might as well start tonight.”

“I wanted to say it’s _kind of chilly tonight_.” he said impassively, and her face lit up. “I bought you a jacket. It’s in the closet.”

“So you’re not going to stop me?”

“You’re right.” he said with a shrug. “Also some fresh air will be good for you, even if air in Gotham is hardly ever _fresh_.”

“So, what are you going to do next?” she asked him as they were walking down the street. “Once you get your memories back, that is.”

“I have no idea.” he admitted. “It depends on what’s hidden in my brain. See… I did some digging, some asking around. Learned something… About my parents.”

There was a bitter taste in his mouth; he felt empty, he felt numb. He was talking about people who gave life to him, who raised him, who loved him - but he felt _nothing_ when he talked about them, when he read about them.

“They’re both dead.” he continued. “My father killed himself, my mother… My mother also killed herself, after being committed to Arkham Asylum. Apparently she was too unwell to walk the streets. Dangerous.”

“Sorry.” Charlie said quietly; but Oz shook his head.

“Don’t be. As for now… Those people are complete strangers to me.” he said with a shrug. “But they were once wealthy and influential. And then… They weren’t. _Snap -_ and they lost everything.” he said, snapping his fingers. “So maybe - just maybe - the secret to whatever happened to them is hidden in what I was forced to repress.”

“But what _then_?” she asked softly. “Oz, you surely know-”

“About the fact I’m a non-person?” he interrupted her bitterly. “Yeah. I am. My records are gone, I’m no one’s relative, I’m not eligible for any other profession, or even for a bloody inheritance. But… I want to _know_. Someone sent me to that blasted torture camp. Someone wanted me _gone_.”

“I hope they rot.” she said firmly. “But if you find out… What _then_?”

“No idea.” he said with a shrug. “I’m planning on getting to _your_ problem soon, and considering just how much you owe me… Maybe I’ll buy myself a villa. Retire. Adopt a dog or ten.”

He glanced at her after she didn’t reply for a while; her lips were pursed and she seemed angry.

“Or maybe I’ll go on a trip around the world.” he said, trying to figure out what did he say to make her upset. “And send you a postcard from every place I visit.”

“Oh, hunter.” she sighed. “You’re so clueless.”

“What can I say?” he said with a shrug. “I’m not good with social subtleties.”

“You’ll learn.”

“And what about _you_? What are you planning to do once you get your money back?”

“I’ll settle down.” she said lightly. “Someplace safe. And then, once I’m safe… I’ll start mourning my parents.”

“Sounds like a fine plan… Just as long as you leave me your address, so I know where to send my cards.”

She laughed quietly; but her laughter quickly turned into coughing. They were approaching the river - and thanks to drowners and shriekers and ghouls Gotham River was _not_ smelling pretty.

“Oh _Jesus_.” she eventually wheezed, covering her mouth and nose with a scarf. “Did something die here?!”

“Most likely, yeah.” Oswald said, not affected by the atrocious smell. “Don’t tell me New York _doesn’t_ have a body dumping lot like this.”

“It does, but I never went near it. I think Mask’s standing over there.” she added in a hushed tone; and when Oz looked in the direction she was pointing at - he could see a tall, stocky man watching them from the shadows.

“You’re lucky I know who your friend is, hunter.” the man said, his voice muffled and distorted by the mask he was wearing. “Good evening, Charlotte. Still happy about our arrangement? Want to file a complaint?”

“I just wanted to go out for a walk.” she replied, sounding nervous. “I… Didn’t know it’s _you_ who offered to restore Oswald’s memories.”

“It had to be me.” Mask replied with a shrug. “But let’s not dwell on the topic of fatalism and parallel universes and strings of fate. Sufficient to say… Someone has to be the deus ex machina if everything else fails.”

In a way, Oswald knew what Mask is talking about - even if he had no clue.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he said, walking up to the Mask. “What’s your price?”

“My _price_ is included in my offer, hunter.” Mask replied calmly. “You’ll get your memories back… If you allow me to run my experiment on you.”

“And that’s it? No catch, no loopholes?”

“No catch, no loopholes.” Mask repeated. “Above all things, hunter, I’m a businessman. An entrepreneur. I’m considering you to be an investment of sorts.”

 _Investment_?

Oz squinted slightly, considering his situation. He was well aware of the war going on between Falcone and the Mask; and it was not uncommon for the hunters to end up thoroughly tangled up in stories and conflicts much bigger than them. Hunters were useful assets - efficient and logical and deadly.

Oswald didn’t care about Falcone’s petty squabbling with the Mask; he didn’t care about anything. One or the other being in power, controlling the market and the gangs - it wouldn’t affect his life at all. Naturally he _knew_ Mask is the more powerful one - seemingly omnipotent and nearly omniscient, Black Mask was an inseparable part of Gotham and Gotham’s history. Maybe he was a sorcerer, or an alchemist - or maybe he was a demon, clever enough to trick hunters into not sensing his true nature. Whoever - whatever - he was didn’t matter; same way Carmine Falcone never mattered. The only thing that mattered now were Oswald’s memories - and they were so close he could _taste_ them.

“Alright.” he said firmly. “I agree. I want to _remember_ , Mask. I want to be a person again.”

“Splendid! Splendid, splendid.” the man muttered, writing something down in a leather-bound notebook. “My associate will contact you soon. He’ll walk you through the basic outline of what’s awaiting you.”

“And… That’s it?” Oz asked, a bit dumbfounded. “You wanted to see me here, all the way from my home… For _this_?”

“I like some fresh air every now and then.” Mask breathed out; through the holes in his mask Oz could see amused sparks in his eyes. “Also I’m waiting for someone here. Two birds, one stone, as the old saying goes.”

Mask turned around to step back into the shadows; but Oz suddenly decided that - even though he doesn’t care - he’s interested in knowing something.

“Hey, Mask.”

“Yes, hunter?”

“Are you grooming Sofia Falcone to take over after you?”

“I’m grooming Sofia Falcone to take over after her _father_.” Mask said without turning around. “Besides… I thought you don’t care about power dynamics in Gotham.”

“Sofia was allegedly my friend.” Oz said with a shrug. “And I’m trying to be a person. And curiosity…”

“Is a common human mistake. Curiosity killed the cat, hunter.”

“Aight.” Oz muttered, turning around to walk away; he _almost_ felt excited by the perspective of getting his memories back, of learning the truth. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, hunter. After all… You might not like what you find.”

This offhandedly spoken comment made Oswald freeze in his tracks.

“Do you _know_ what happened?” he asked, quickly turning around again, looking at the back of Mask’s head.

“I do.” Mask said calmly. “I’m a businessman, and information… Information is the most valuable commodity.”

“How much?” Oz asked quietly. “Just… Just tell me.”

Mask turned around, and looked at something over his shoulder; and even without checking Oswald knew what is he looking at.

“She has nothing to her name.” he said quietly. “And you know it. You already took everything she had from her… And then you sent her to Falcone.”

“She’ll be rich once she deals with the man who’s looking for her.” Mask said with a shrug. “And before you ask - no, I’m not going to help him find her. I promised her she’ll be safe with you… And I’m keeping my word.”

The questions kept on piling.

“You did _what_?”

“She didn’t know she’s choosing you when she chose your name from the list of potential candidates.” Mask said impassively. “I have her a list of strong, capable people in Gotham… And she chose you. Apparently _The Wizard of Oz_ was her mother’s favorite movie.”

“Did you put a _spell_ on me?”

“I didn’t have to put a spell on you to know you’d not only spare her life, but also ensure her safety, Penguin.” Mask said tiredly. “Humans are creatures of habit, and you’re trying so hard to be one it was obvious what’s going to happen. It was obvious you’re going to do the _human_ thing.”

“Is there _anything_ in Gotham you’re not manipulating?”

“There’s _plenty_ of stuff in Gotham I’m not manipulating. I’m not a god, Oswald, I’m just a very crafty businessman. And, speaking of business… Ten million.”

“You want me to pay you _ten million_ for a story of what happened to my family?!”

“That succubus is willing to give _everything_ for protection and safety… To the right person, that is.” Mask corrected himself.

“I’ll… Think about it.” Oz said slowly; Mask patted him on the shoulder.

“Take your time, hunter. Neither of us is going anywhere anyway.”

Charlie was watching the river when he walked up to her; she looked at him and he could see she’s smiling underneath the scarf covering her face.

“So, what now?” she asked; Mask’s offer was still ringing in his ears when he looked her in the eye. She seemed to be sad underneath her smile; and he tried to imagine taking all those money from her and handing them to the Mask, in exchange for truth about his family. He could imagine it happening quite clearly; but something about that scenario… Something about it felt wrong, out of place.

Finally, he realized.

“Ah, _fuck me_.” he muttered, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “Of fucking course.”

“Well, if you _insist_.” Charlie said, visibly surprised; Oz scoffed.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” he said, waving his hand. “It’s… Complicated.”

“I’m a smart girl. I can take complicated stuff.”

“It’s also completely irrelevant to you.” he said evasively; he already made up his mind. Gotham was Gotham, and Mask was Mask; but there was no way in hell paying ten million to the Mask was the _only_ way he could possibly learn about the true nature of the tragedy that apparently befell his family. It was most likely the _easiest_ way - but he was used to having nothing handed to him. He could manage with some more difficulties. “I just got lost in Mask’s aura of necessity, that’s all.”

“Sure.” she said cautiously. “But… Did you make a deal with him?”

“Regarding my memories? Yes.” he said; and her face lit up. “But it’ll be a few days before someone reaches out to me, so…”

“Maybe we could try to lure Harry in.” she suggested. “The sooner the better, I’d say. I think you might need some space after the… Thing.”

“Getting tired of me already?” he asked lightly as they were walking. “Alright then. But… How do you know he’s even _remotely_ close?”

“If there’s something Harry’s good at… It’s following trails of breadcrumbs.” she said, not looking at him. “And I left a trail leading to Gotham. He’s probably already _here_ , but since I only talked to five people here… He _might_ have a hard time actually tracking me down.”

“You didn’t give him your ribbon, right?”

“That was that one mistake I _didn’t_ make.” she said lightly; he nodded silently. Ribbons were something succubi only gave to those they trusted; when given consensually, ribbons were powerful artifacts. They rendered their owner immune to giver’s charms - as well as established a bond between the giver and the recipient, meaning they’d always find each other, no matter what. They were great in case of romantic relationships - and a pain in the ass if something went south and said relationship turned sour.

“That’s good to hear. So… I guess it’s time for you to start going out.” he said, gently nudging her with his elbow. “Nothing big, enough to let your presence known - but only to him.”

“I did some thinking, actually. I don’t think there’s _any_ chance of him ever going to Falcone.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“He’s greedy.” she said lightly, not slowing down. “Greedy enough to kill two innocent people for money. And Falcone… I know he inherited his empire, but judging from his demon sex industry - he’s pretty crafty himself. He’d want a big cut of the money after getting the password out of me. How much would he take?”

“I’m guessing seventy five percent.”

“So it’d leave Harry with a lousy _five_ million.” she said lightly; and Oz furrowed his brows, doing quick math in his head. “You’re now counting how much in total I’m going to have afterwards, I can see it.”

“Maybe.” he said with a shrug. “But I can see your point. Five million sure does sound lousy, when compared to _twenty_.”

“Yep. So, my guess is… He’s going to _avoid_ getting Falcone involved. You live on the edge of that slavic district, like?”

“It starts two blocks from where I live. And-”

“Falcone has no influence there.” she interrupted him calmly. “I’m aware of it, yes. So… I think I’m going to go shopping tomorrow.”

“It’s after midnight though.”

“ _Tomorrow_ begins once I wake up, and I have yet to go to bed. Also, speaking of _going to bed_ … I’m hungry.”

She wasn’t joking; she wrapped herself around him as soon as he closed the door behind them. He absentmindedly wondered if his apparent inability to say _no_ to her is messing with her appetite and hunger; but he couldn’t quite focus, because she somehow always knew just what to do to turn his - usually sharp - mind into mush.

“I don’t understand why are so many of my brethren dissatisfied with feeding off hunters.” she muttered afterwards; she was sitting on his stomach, and her fingers were still in his hair.

“It’s because we don’t _mean_ a single word of adoration you require.” he replied, absentmindedly drawing a line between her breasts with his index finger. “Your charms prey on emotions, forcing adoration and devotion. And since we don’t _feel_ those… You only get the most basic, physical, chemical aspects of human satisfaction.”

She laughed, not moving away from him.

“You _really_ aced that succubi-incubi class, didn’t you?”

“Apparently my mother’s paternal grandfather was a pureblood incubus.” Oz replied; Charlie raised her brows in surprise. “So maybe it’s a genetic knowledge.”

“I hate to break it out to you, but genetic knowledge’s not a thing. _Assassin’s Creed_ lied to you.”

“Damn.” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “And here I thought I might be able to relive his days of glory.”

“The incubi feed off _being_ pleased by others though. So, I’d say… We have a _mutually beneficial_ thing going on.” she said, getting up a bit and sliding off him. “I’m satisfied, and you… You get to roleplay your great-grandfather.”

“Next time give me an hour before you start unzipping my pants.” he muttered, getting up. “So I’ll get a top hat and a monocle.”

“Anything for you, my good sir.”

“That’s a good demon.”

***

So, for the next couple weeks - they cautiously baited Harry Spencer. Charlie claimed she saw him on the street one day; maybe she did. Maybe it was her paranoia speaking, after being locked up in a tiny flat for a long period of time. Regardless of what was the truth - Oz started to accompany her in a safe distance every time she went out for a walk, or to do some shopping. Spencer already proved himself to be ruthless, by setting a trap and then killing her parents; there was no doubt he wouldn’t be above resorting to torture.

And Charlie seemed to be pleased with finally being out; even if she still couldn’t be her old flashy, elegant self - there’s only so much time a person can spend in a small flat, even one clean and well-lit.

(He barely remembered what it looked like _before_ he repainted the walls and bought new furniture and lights to make his nest more suitable for two.)

And eventually - it worked.

Someone called him from an unknown number in the middle of the day; and Oz picked up, not taking his eyes off Charlie who was excitedly talking about something with a guy working at the bakery.

“Don’t be alarmed.” he heard an unknown voice; very smooth, just a bit high pitched. “Do you know who am I?”

“No clue.” he replied calmly. “Is it about the Crowne’s Cemetery contract?”

“No, this is about the succubus who’s been living with you.” Spencer said calmly. “Don’t look around. I can see both of you just fine from where I am, you and this… This thieving _leech_.”

“Oh?” he said, leaning against a nearby wall. “Alright. What do you want?”

“We can’t talk for much longer.” Spencer said, as Charlie left the bakery. “Meet me at the Stacked Deck tonight. Eleven pm sharp. You won’t regret it… _Penguin_.”

He hung up just as Charlie walked past Oswald with a paper bag filled with freshly baked goods; he had no doubts she put her charms to use on the boy working behind the counter.

She headed in the direction of - his? their? - home; and he followed.

They only spoke after entering the building.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked as he opened the door; but he shook his head, deciding it’s better to be safe than sorry.

One of his drawers was filled with protective trinkets of all sorts he gathered over the years, just in case; after few minutes of rummaging through the piles of amulets and charms and carvings he found what he’s been looking for - the Privacy Charm. Upon activating, the medallion was said to turn its activator’s home into a soundproof location, impenetrable by both magic and technology.

“Spencer called me.” he finally said, after activating the spell. “He wants to meet with me. Tonight.”

“Be careful, Oz.” Charlie said quietly, suddenly seeming anxious. “Remember, he’s after twenty millions. He’ll stop at nothing.”

“So I’ll fill my pockets with protective charms, drink that incomprehensibly disgusting oil protecting hunters from poisons and drugs and cast the Irkskold Sigil on myself.” he replied calmly, reaching for the paper bag. “I’ll be fine, fiend. One thing that _is_ vaguely disturbing is the fact he apparently knows about my Penguin side activities, but… Maybe he simply did his homework on me.”

“Don’t joke about it!” she said desperately as he fished out brioche buns from the bag. “What if he’s working with Falcone after all?!”

“Don’t panic.” he said, opening the fridge. “There are many ways one could find out I’m Falcone’s attack dog.”

“Oh yeah? Like _what_?”

“Like getting to someone I spared. Or using magic on his secretary, or Sofia. What I’m trying to say is… Don’t worry. And don’t overthink either.”

“You could _make_ me not worry, you know.” she muttered as he opened the fridge. “Make me think about something completely different.”

“Such as?” he asked, checking the date on minced beef.

“Such as how _nimble_ your tongue is.” she replied; he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Alright.” he eventually said. “Can I at least make those burgers first, or-”

“No.” she interrupted him; there was some odd, pleading spark in her eyes. “You can’t. Now get over here… And _kneel_.”

And he did; he pulled down her pants and her underwear and soon he was sure she’s not overthinking anything anymore.

***

It was a rainy night; because of course it was.

“Oh, Jesus.” Deck’s owner muttered as he came inside, his coat soaking wet, droplets of water falling from his mask. “Are you here to wreck this place _again_?”

“No.” he replied almost apologetically. “Sorry for the last time though. Falcone’s… A tough boss.”

“Yeah, you tell me.” she muttered. “So, Penguin. What _does_ bring you here?”

“Business.”

The owner nodded and returned to minding her own business; and Oz sat down in one of the booths, looking around. Then he checked the time; eleven pm, sharp.

Spencer showed up fifteen minutes later, as Oz was killing time by playing stabscotch, much to the owner’s dismay.

“You’re late.” he said, not looking up as someone quietly sat down at the table across him. “Is this how you treat _all_ your business partners?”

“Traffic.” he heard a familiar, smooth, just a bit high-pitched voice; and when he looked up - Harry Spencer was there.

He looked young; and pretty. He had full lips and curly hair and long eyelashes; and behind his glasses - stained with rainwater - his eyes looked innocent and honest.

“You wanted to meet.” Oz said, leaning back against the backrest. “I’m here. Let’s talk.”  
“Ooh, I like you.” Spencer said with a smile. “I know you’ve been harboring a succubus.”

“We’re not looking for a number three.” he said; and Spencer’s face changed.

“She’s a _thief_.” Harry said quietly, leaning in. “You shouldn’t trust her, Penguin. She’ll suck you dry - and then _leave_.”

“Oh really?” Oz asked calmly. “What did she steal from _you_?”

“Everything.” Spencer breathed out; and the lie-detecting charm Oswald had wrapped around his wrist remained dormant. It was a powerful little thing, handcrafted by Falcone’s most trusted sorcerer - impossible to trick.

“Mmm.” Oz muttered, playing with his knife. “Let’s say I believe you. What now?”

“Bring her to me.” Spencer said immediately, his eyes sparkling menacingly. “And once I get what’s mine back… One third’s yours.”

“Fifty-fifty.” Oz replied calmly. “Or I’ll sneak her out of Gotham and you’ll never see either of us ever again.”

“That’s a fair deal.” Spencer said after a long pause. “So you’ll do it? You’ll bring her to me?”

“Only if you tell me something first.”

“Well, what is it?” he asked, suddenly sounding nervous.

“Who told you how to contact the Penguin?”

“An incubus.” Spencer said cautiously. “Does the name _Ella_ ring a bell?”

Of course it did; he knew Ella well. They weren’t exactly _friends -_ as a hunter, he didn’t have those - but he did save her life and hid her demonic identity from Falcone. He considered her trustworthy enough to reveal his face and name to her; maybe it was a mistake.

“It does.” Oz said. “Alright… _Partner_. It’s a deal.”

“Really? And you’re going to just… Give her up?”

“She means nothing to me.” Oz said calmly; and the lie detector around his wrist buzzed lightly, alerting him of a lie. Maybe it was broken, after all; maybe the magic worn off. Or maybe there was dimeritium nearby, distorting the magic. “The sex is nice, but you said it yourself - she’s a _leech_. So… You can have her.”

“Splendid!” Harry said, visibly relieved. “I _knew_ you’d be reasonable. Say… Tomorrow, same time?”

“Works for me.” Oz said with a nod. “Do you know where the Cobblepot Park is?”

“Not yet.”

“Look it up. We’ll meet there.” he added, getting up. “I’ll bring her. And then… We’ll talk. And what a fruitful conversation it’ll be!”

He bought Spencer a drink on his way out; few minutes later he took his mask off, dismantled it and stuffed it into his bag. Later he picked some food up; some gyoza dumplings for Charlie, and some beef curry for himself.

Just like he predicted - she wasn’t asleep yet. When he entered, she was nervously pacing around the room.

“Evening.” he said, setting the takeout boxes down on the kitchen counter. “Midnight snack?”

“You’re back!” she exclaimed, hurrying up to him. “And alive! And in one piece!”

“Mmmhmm. I brought you some dumplings.”

“Oswald!” she said desperately as he was picking up a fork. “Stop fucking around and _talk to me_!”

“I’m _hungry_.” he said slowly, walking past her and sitting down in his favorite chair; she scoffed, grabbed his food and put it down on the table out of his reach.

“You’ll eat once you tell me what happened.” she said firmly; she sat down on his lap and put her hands on his shoulders. “So better start talking, or you’ll _starve_.”

“I met with Harry Spencer.” he said slowly; she was staring at him attentively. “We’re going to meet again tomorrow, at the Cobblepot Park. I’m going to bring you. And then…”

He paused for a moment and shrugged.

“Spencer thinks I’m going to hand you over to him.” he said finally; and he could feel her grip tighten slightly.

“But… You’re _not_ going to do it.” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Right?”

“Of _course_ I’m not going to do it.” he scoffed. “I’d now use my lie detector to prove it, but… That thing’s broken. For example, it didn’t pick up _the_ most blatant lie I’ve ever heard.”

“Which is..?”

“Spencer claims you stole everything from him.” he said calmly. “Except… It was the other way ‘round. Which is _very_ easy to verify, by the way. A simple Google search will prove it.”

“But is it still a lie if he believes it?”

“Well, yeah. Truth is objective and non-negotiable.”

Charlie sighed, sliding off his lap.

“If only actual reality was so simple and binary.” she said, sinking down on the couch. “You can eat now. Also, bring me those dumplings.”

He handed her the dumplings and chopsticks; they ate in silence, Oswald’s mind busy trying to prepare for tomorrow.

“Uh, _what_ are you doing?” she eventually asked when he changed into his sweatpants. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be working out right after _eating_.”

“My metabolism had been altered.” he said, stretching. “Also I have to sweat that oil I drank earlier out.”

“Can I sit on you?” she asked suddenly as he was doing push ups. “On your back, I mean. I… I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“Well, if you must…”

“I _must_.” she said firmly; so he paused for a moment, waiting for her to sit comfortably.

“You’re light.” he said, resuming his routine.

“Or maybe _you’re_ just _strong_.” she mused. “Also you’re surprisingly comfortable to sit on, for someone so lean.”

He could feel her fingertips on his arms and between his shoulder blades; he wondered if she’s trying to distract him. She traced one of his scars with her fingertips, over and over again; and eventually she started to massage his shoulders lightly.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t get tense and strain something.” she replied; he could feel her reposition herself. “What, did I find another sweet spot?”

“No.” he muttered; she massaged his neck lightly and he had to fight off the urge to turn his head in an attempt to escape the teasing touch. “You did not.”

“Hunters are _awful_ liars.” she giggled; but he really didn’t mind her touch, not at all.

She joined him in the shower after he was done; and the cabin was small, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Wash my hair for me, hunter.”

Her hand crept down between his legs as he did so; and she laughed quietly stroking him lightly.

“Now wash me lower, hunter.”

He washed her chest for her, and he could hear her sigh with satisfaction; her nipples were already stiff, and he suddenly felt the urge to pinch them, almost curious about her reaction - but he didn’t.

She guided his hand down, between her legs.

“Don’t wash me here.” she muttered, resting her head against his chest. “There’s no point.”

“There’s no point.” he agreed quietly; his fingers were inside her and her fingers were around him and she was breathing heavily.

“This won’t do.” she eventually panted out. “Take a step back, hunter. I need to turn around.”

With her hair wet and sticking to her face and with droplets of water falling off her lashes and her eyes clouded - she was still beautiful; she wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her up without a word and she wrapped her legs around him. He bit her neck, and she dug her nails into his back; but neither of them seemed to mind those short stings of pain.

He almost wanted to kiss her, but he couldn’t, since he didn’t mean it; so instead he kissed her neck, the same spot he had bitten, and she tilted her head back and he could feel the blood oozing out of the shallow cuts on his back.

(He wondered if she ever kissed Harry Spencer.)

“Will you carry me to bed if I wash your hair for you?” she asked, still wrapped around him.

“Sure.”

Her fingers in his hair almost felt good; and afterwards he did carry her to bed, even though it was pointless, since she ended up sleeping on the couch with him anyway.

***

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked him a few hours before the meeting. “That is, if you even… _Have_ one.”

“You told me Spencer isn’t a sorcerer, just a damn good actor. I’m going to use that against him.”

“You’re going to cast a spell on him? That’s not gonna work, he’ll be prepared.”

“Not a _spell._ ” Oz replied, not opening his eyes; he was trying to meditate in order to clear his mind, but naturally - Charlie wasn’t making anything easy for him, lounged across his favorite chair, loudly crunching sesame-rosemary breadsticks. “A Sigil.”

“Those are exactly the same though.”

“Not quite.” he said, opening his eyes and giving up on meditation; instead he decided to stretch. “Sigils are simpler, more raw.”

“And are Sigils a reason for why your fingers are so nimble?” she asked innocently as he was doing a bridge; he looked at her, his head hanging upside-down between his arms.

“Yes.” he said very seriously. “I once considered breaking my own fingers to get kicked out of the hunter program.”

“I, for one, am glad you _didn’t_ do it.”

“I’m not.” he said flatly. “I’d rather have my memories and emotions, instead of nimble fingers.”

“And soon you’re going to have both your memories _and_ nimble fingers. Wait, what were we talking about? Before I started to compliment you on your beautiful hands, that is.”

“You know, it’d be much simpler for you to just _say_ what you want.”

“But I like tormenting you with vague allusions and innuendos.”

“Yes, I noticed.” he muttered. “Anyway. The plan.”

“Oh! Right.” she remembered. “He’s going to be _covered_ in protective amulets.”

“Yeah, but I’ve picked the place deliberately. That park is one of Gotham’s wellsprings - and I’m in tune with it.”

“I’m a succubus.” she reminded him. “Not a human sorceress. I don’t know the human magic lingo.”

“You don’t have to. All you need to know is that in that park - my Sigils are unstoppable. He could come wearing a full plate dimeritium armor, and I could still get him to at least take it off.”

“Do you think it’s because you’re a Cobblepot?”

“Could be.” he said, standing up. “Names and bloodlines are a whole subset of magic on their own. I might no longer be a Cobblepot legally - but they can’t erase it from my blood and genes.”

“So you’re going to just… Magic him into sending me my money back?”

“I might also magic him into committing a gruesome suicide.” he replied without thinking; she laughed, but it sounded forced.

Finally, the time had come for them to leave; and they were ready.

Or - Oswald was ready. When Charlie was standing with her back turned to him, he casted a Sigil on her; just to make everything seem more believable.

“Sorry.” he muttered, seeing her blank face. “But you can’t act for _shit_.”

She followed him obediently; and since the park was empty, and they showed up before midnight - he had time for some additional props, to make sure Spencer lets his defenses down.

He gagged her and tied her wrists just in time; Spencer showed up, looking giddy.

“Well!” he said at the sight of magically bemused Charlie. “Truly a sight for sore eyes. What is she on?”

“Magic.” Oz replied, avoiding looking at either of them.

“Can you… Un-magic her?” Spencer asked, taking one step closer. “I want her to see me.”

“Sure.”

He snapped his fingers; and Charlie blinked a few times, before realizing the situation she’s in.

“Mmmpf?!” she muttered, turning around to face Oz; and her expression almost made him feel something, that utter betrayal, that shock, that pain.

“Hello, _angel_.” Spencer said quietly; and Charlie froze in place, her eyes quickly filling with tears. “Missed me?”

Oswald decided it’s enough the moment Charlie looked at Harry, completely horrified; Spencer reached out to touch her face - and Oz casted a Sigil on him, just before he touched her face.

“You _fuck_!” Charlie screamed as soon as he ungagged her. “How _could_ you?!”

“I needed him to believe me!” Oz replied; Charlie furiously struggled in her bonds.

“Untie me.” she demanded. “Now. So I can _strangle_ you.”

“Please calm down.” he said, cautiously reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder; she hissed and almost bit him.

“I was sure you’re going to give me to him!” she finally said, her voice breaking. “You fuck, you piece of shit, you… You…”

She started to cry; and when he untied her hands and she grabbed his shirt, he was sure she’s going to either strangle him or claw his eyes out, or both; but instead she only looked him in the eye, their faces inches away from each other.

“Don’t _ever_ do this again.” she said quietly, her eyes filled with tears. “Ever.”

“I won’t.” he promised her.

“That’s a good human.” she choked out quietly.

Finally she let go of his shirt and turned around, facing Spencer.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Oz asked, standing behind her.

“Tell him to send me my money back.” she said, not taking her eyes off Harry’s face. “And then… Do you have a knife? Or a gun, or anything?”

“I do.”

“Good.” she said quietly. “But let’s start with me getting my money back.”

“You heard the lady.” Oz said to Spencer. “Give her her money back.”

Spencer mechanically fished out his phone and made the transfer; and Oswald’s own phone - hooked to Charlie’s bank app for the time being - buzzed.

“Here.” he said, handing her the phone. “Unlock them.”

But she shook her head.

“First I want you to tie him up, nice and tight. And then… And then I’m going to _talk_ to him.”

“...alright.”

He tied Spencer up to a nearby lantern post; and - just in case - gagged him, just to make sure his screams won’t alert anyone.

“Wake him up now.” said Charlie, who spent the last few minutes pacing around; Oz glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Are you _sure_?”

“ _Yes_.” she said firmly. “Wake him up. I want some closure, hunter. I want revenge.”

“Suit yourself.” he said with a shrug; he got up and handed Charlie his folding knife. “I’ll be nearby. Call out if you need anything.”

He walked away, snapping his fingers; and soon after he could see a muffled _conversation_ Charlie was having with the man who killed her parents.

It was rather one-sided, and unpleasant, judging from the sounds Spencer was making; so Oz laid down on a nearby bench with his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, tuning everything out.

Eventually, he felt someone’s presence nearby; and when he opened his eyes he saw Charlie covered in blood, looking at him calmly.

“Thanks.” she said, handing him back his knife. “Can we go home now?”

“Not yet.” he replied, getting up. “Is he still alive?”

“No.” she said, looking away.

“So I have to get rid of the body. Wait here.”

He walked up to where he left Charlie with Harry, and nodded silently, seeing what she did to him; she really let her emotions take control. There was barely anything left of his face; and he could see a _lot_ of stab wounds on his body.

He set the body on fire with the Aitha Sigil; it was most likely going to be a long while before anyone finds it - and then all traces of DNA leading to any of them would be long gone.

“He got what he deserved.” Charlie said quietly after he returned. “Right?”

There was a note of helplessness in her voice and in her eyes, and she stared at him, as if she was waiting for his approval; and he looked at her, thinking about how hunters are supposed to be impartial and neutral.

“Right.” he finally said, fishing out his quick travel amulet. “Come on. We’re going home.”

She wrapped her arms around him as he activated the amulet; and silently disappeared in the bathroom as soon as they appeared in the room.

“I’m still mad at you.” he heard her say. “For using a Sigil on me without a warning.”

“You just killed a person.” he replied, leaning against the wall next to the door. “Are you… Alright?”

“I’m pissed off, that’s what I am.” she shot back. “Spencer’s dead. End of story. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Nightmares, paranoia, hauntings…”

“So it’s a good thing I’ve got _you_.”

She turned the water on; and he closed his eyes for a moment, very clearly seeing her wash the blood off her body.

“The worst that can happen is me having a sudden breakdown.” she continued calmly after leaving the bathroom; she didn’t bother with wiping anything, or even getting dressed. “Big fucking deal. I’m _great_ at repressing my emotions. I’ll repress those as well.”

“But-”

She quickly turned around, facing him; she stared at him with her eyes half open and he gulped, forgetting what was he trying to say.

“I’m pissed off at you.” she said quietly; he could feel her breath on his skin. “You could’ve _warned me_.”

“I-”

“Shut up.” she interrupted him calmly. “You’re a sweet talker and a charmer, we’ve already established that. It’s going to take you _more_ than talking to make me less angry at you. Get undressed.” she added, crossing her arms; she was holding a pair of dimeritium handcuffs, probably brought by Spencer.

“Why?” he asked, not moving. “Did you learn something about yourself tonight, Charlie?”

“Maybe.” she said with an odd spark in her eyes. “Maybe I like hearing people beg. Get undressed.”

“You’re not going to cut me, are you?”

“No, but I’m going to put that tongue of yours to a much better use.” she said calmly. “Then I’m going to focus on you for some time, just to make you realize _just_ how much of a fuck-up that Sigil was. And then you’re going to apologize to me a few more times. You know. Just to make sure I’m not pissed off at you anymore.”

“That sounds like a sound idea.” he said quietly. “I’d rather not sleep in the same room as an angry succubus.”

“That’s a good human.”

He apologized to her over and over again that night, on his knees and not with words, but with his tongue; but she wasn’t quite satisfied yet. She forced some verbal apology out of him with a bunch of feathers she found in the park when he was tying Spencer up; he apologized to her over and over again as the feather danced across his skin; and he could see sparks of amusement in her eyes as she sat back down in the chair, one leg thrown over the armrest, the other resting against his shoulder.

She had him wrapped around her finger, he realized; and he didn’t mind.

“Oh, hunter.” she eventually said. “What should I do with you?”

He stared at her in silence, breathlessly; she was beautiful and cruel and he still remembered her fingers covered in blood and he wanted to be able to fall in love, to be able to _experience_ love; he was sure he’d fall in love with her if he could, with the way she was more a demon than a human and more a human than a demon at the same time.

“Whatever you want.” he replied; she laughed and pushed his head back between her legs and once again he wondered if all succubi are as sweet as her.

“You know, hunter… I’m not mad anymore.” she told him eventually; he lost track of the time he spent apologizing to her. “You’re so sweet though. I wish I could stay with you forever.”

He wanted to say something, but didn’t; she pushed him onto his back and teased him just a little bit more, before finally feeding off him; and sun was rising when she uncuffed him and announced she’s going to bed.

“Sleep tight, demon.”

She didn’t respond; and few hours later he heard her crying.

“Charlie?” he asked; when she didn’t respond he got up and walked up to the bed where she was laying, curled up and sobbing.

He lied down next to her; and she instantly pulled him closer and her tears almost burned his skin.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He woke up hours later - alone.

“Charlie?” he muttered, looking around the room, listening closely to check if maybe she’s in the kitchen or in the bathroom; but she was nowhere to be found.

There was a piece of paper lying on the pillow next to him; a letter.

 

 _So sorry for sneaking out like this - but you looked so happy about finally sleeping in bed I just couldn’t bear to wake you up._  
This is where our paths part - for now, at least. I haven’t forgotten about my debt - check your left wrist for a proof.  
Good hunting, Oswald. Don’t think of me when scavenging for ghoul brains.

 

He glanced at his left wrist; wrapped around it was a deep blue ribbon with thin, golden rim. He touched it cautiously - it was light like gauze, and seemed to have no beginning or end. It seemed that before sneaking out, Charlie had left him her ribbon; it’d lead him back to her eventually.

Without her presence, his tiny studio seemed darker; its silence was almost unsettling, he grew so used to things as simple as her heartbeat. His heart almost ached; and his thoughts kept drifting off in her direction. He kept wondering where is she now and if she’s safe; if she finally allowed herself to start mourning.

When he went out to get some food - he instinctively bought food for two. He didn’t need that many burritos; he ended up giving the extra ones to the homeless guy he met on his way home.

And once he got home - he put the bag with his food down and impulsively punched his fridge. The silence and emptiness of his flat was maddening and overwhelming; and he knew he’s going to have trouble falling asleep without her presence in the room, without her presence in his arms, without her breath on his skin and without her heartbeat under his fingertips.

“Well, fuck.” he muttered. “Out of all the possibilities… Did it _have_ to be a succubus?”

(Did he _have_ to - somehow, miraculously, impossibly, magically - grow attached to her?)

“Fascinating creatures, the succubi.” he suddenly heard an unfamiliar voice; when he turned around - there was a man standing near the window in the room, with his back to Oz, his arms folded behind his back. Most likely, he teleported there moments ago; he most definitely wasn’t there when Oswald came back.

“ _Please_ tell me you were sent here by the Mask.” Oz said tiredly. “I had a very long, very tiring week. Any new problems must wait ‘till Monday.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I came here to _resolve_ some of your problems.” the man said, turning around; he had a pleasant face in which Oswald could see some rather interesting similarities to his own features. “The memory ones, I mean.”

“Oh thank _god_.” Oz muttered. “So, how is it going to happen?”

“I’m going to be blunt.” the man said with a wolfish smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes. “It’s going to be _very_ painful. So painful - only a hunter could withstand it and not end up comatose or catatonic.”

“Something tells me you learned it the hard way.” Oz muttered, wincing slightly. “Alright. So… What will it do to me?”

“In the simplest terms possible… It’ll tear down the barrier your… Metamorphosis built between you and your memories.” the man said with a polite smile. “It’s going to be _highly_ unpleasant.”

“Wait. My _emotions_?” Oz asked slowly. “I thought the deal is only about my childhood memories.”

“Magic-wise… Those are inseparable. You’re going to become _much_ more human. All of your emotions are going to come back to you.” the man said, his smile getting more and more disturbing. “You can’t possibly think your brain simply stopped producing them.”

“That’s what I’ve been told, over and over again.” Oz muttered, rubbing his temple tiredly; he remembered the intense surge of feelings at the sight of Charlie’s true form. “Should’ve known it’s horseshit.”

“It is.” the man agreed. “The emotions… They’re hidden, hidden so deep you don’t feel them - but they’re _there_. They’re produced - and instantly repressed. You’re going to feel a _lot_ of things at once.”

“This sounds disastrous. Hellish, even.”

“Does it mean you changed your mind?”

“What? No, no, of course not.” Oswald scoffed. “I’ve been conditioned to withstand pain.”

“Pleased to hear it. The procedure will get you out of commission for a couple days. Two weeks tops.”

“I don’t have anything else to do anyway.” Oswald muttered, already texting Falcone’s secretary. “And done.”

“Great.” the man said, almost surprised. “Well. I have all the equipment ready in my study, so-”

“ _Equipment_?” Oz interrupted him. “Like what?”

“Like a gag, to make sure you don’t bite that nimble tongue of yours off. And restraints, to make sure you don’t claw your own heart out.”

“Sounds charming.”

“Sounds _painful_. Shall we?”

Oswald nodded; and the man teleported them to his own den.

It seemed like Black Mask has some ludicrously rich associates; the man lived in a luxurious mansion. But Oswald didn’t get a chance to properly get a look around; because the man hurried him to his study upstairs.

(As they were walking, Oz could feel someone’s watching them; but no one was there when he looked behind.)

“Are you going to at least tell me your _name_ before you magically dig into my head?” Oz asked, following the man; he glanced at him over the shoulder.

“Thomas.” he said. “Or doctor Elliot.”

“I thought you’re a surgeon though. Not a sorcerer specialized in neuromagic.”

“Everyone needs a side hobby. You’ve got laying with the succubi… And I’ve got neuromagic.”

He opened the door to his study before Oz said anything; it was a spacious, mostly empty room with a sinister looking chair in the middle. The chair looked a lot like a dentist chair - but with various manners of restraints, instead of tiny drills and polishers. Upon further inspection, Oz could see intricate runic patterns carved into walls and the floor; and the chair was standing exactly in the very center, where all the lines met.

“Nice work.” Oz muttered, brushing the white wall with his fingertips. “Who did the carving?”

“Every sorcerer needs to have his secrets.” Elliot replied, patting the chair. “Now, if you’d sit down…”

And he did; he watched the man fasten the restraints around his body.

“The procedure can’t be stopped.” the man informed him, shoving a leather bite gag between Oswald’s teeth. “Once we begin… There’ll be no stopping. Because if we _do_ stop - it might irreversibly, fatally damage your brain.”

“Splendid.” was what Oswald intended to say; but all that came out was some incoherent mumbling.

Doctor Elliot smiled and stepped aside.

“So… Let’s begin.”

Turned out - he wasn’t lying about the pain.

_Oh, fu-_

***

When he woke up - it felt like his head’s been turned into a pincushion. His eyelids were too heavy for him to open his eyes; and his throat was seemingly lined with sandpaper.

“Don’t move.” he heard a familiar voice. “Don’t talk.”

He knew this voice; it was pleasant and soft, but his head hurt so much he couldn’t connect it with a person.

“You should drink some water.”

Someone carefully pushed him up; he yelped when he felt the sharp stings of pain in his brain.

“I know, I know. Open your mouth.”

Someone poured some water slowly, carefully into his mouth; and he swallowed.

“That’s a good human.” the voice said softly. “No, no, don’t talk yet.”

He didn’t say anything; there wasn’t anything he wanted to say anyway.

“Sleep now, hunter.”

He fell back asleep; and his dreams were filled with faces and voices he could not name just yet.

***

He had no idea how much time had passed between that feverish awakening and the moment he _actually_ woke up, becoming aware of his surroundings; but he woke up in his own flat, in his own bed. Someone was in the kitchen; and he knew that presence, he remembered it well. It made his heart swell in his chest; and he froze for a moment, analyzing the situation.

It was absolutely incomprehensible; suddenly there were childhood memories in his head, and he could access them without any problem. Suddenly he was no longer empty and numb; there were emotions inside of him, and they felt both new and familiar. The sorcerer claimed they were always there; and perhaps he was right. Maybe it was like swimming, or riding the bicycle; one can not do it for years - but one can’t simply forget how to do it.

“Jesus.” Oz muttered; he thought of a joke and he felt amused, he thought of Carmine Falcone and he felt angry, he thought of his family and he felt sad. He felt so many things; the void inside him was gone.

“You’re awake!” Charlie said; and his heart skipped a beat. “Oh thank _god_.”

“Hey, demon.” he said as she quickly walked up to his bed with a wide smile on her face. “Been a… Actually I have no clue how long it had been.”

“A week, more or less. You should _probably_ take a shower.”

Once he looked at her, he couldn’t make himself look away; suddenly he had feelings and suddenly those feelings were reacting to what he was seeing, to her hair, to her eyes, to the sound of her voice.

“ _God_ you’re pretty.” he finally said, and she laughed. “Was I really out for a week?”

“Do you really not remember anything?”

“No.” he said; and her smile disappeared. “I mean. I remember my childhood now. My parents.”

“And… How does it make you feel?”

“Sad.” he said; but much to his surprise - _so that’s how being surprised feels -_ the sadness wasn’t overwhelming; perhaps his emotions had time to set in when he was unconscious. “How comes I’m _here_ though? Last thing I remember…”

He paused and winced, remembering the inhuman, overwhelming pain; he remembered screaming, and he remembered desperately trying to get the pain to _stop_ \- and then… Nothing.

“Last thing I remember is screaming.” he said. “Lots and lots of screaming. And now I have this huge hole in my memories, between screaming and waking up.”

“Oh boy.” she sighed; she turned her head and he noticed her black eye and busted lip. “It might be for the better, you know.”

“Not a wise thing to say to a man who went through hell to get his childhood memories back.” he said. “I want to know what happened. Why am I back home, what are you hiding… And who did _this_ to you.”

He reached out to touch her face; she blinked a few times, but didn’t flinch or wince.

“First I want to know how are you feeling.” she said quietly. “I was… Getting worried.”

“I’m feeling surprisingly fine for someone who was out for a week.”

“And what about your head?” she asked tensely. “You said you… Remember now.”

“Not only I remember, I _feel_.” he breathed out. “And I remember feeling. I remember feeling absolutely _petrified_ when I broke a vase. I remember, Charlie. All my life… It came back to me.”

“And you got your feelings back.”

“It’s almost like… The world got more colorful. Unfortunately, it also means I feel uneasy thinking about what you might be hiding from me.”

“God, you’re _persistent_.” she muttered. “Alright, let’s make a deal. Take a shower and eat something - and _then_ I’ll tell you what happened. I got some vanilla semolina. Mother fed me it when I was sick.”

“So did mine.” Oz muttered; having his memories back still felt weird, and he instantly felt the urge to sink into them and to spend the next few hours on exploring his own past. “And I was _not_ happy about it.”

Semolina still tasted gross to him; but he ate some anyway, just for the sake of finding out what exactly happened once he - seemingly - passed out.

“That’s a good human.” Charlie said, seeing his empty bowl. “So. The story.”

She paused for a moment, twisting her wrists anxiously; Oz waited patiently.

“There really is no good way of saying this.” she finally said. “So I might as well just get it over with and cut to the chase-”

“Do it then.”

“We killed Thomas Elliot.” she finally said. “Or, more accurately - I killed him. You… Set his entire mansion on fire. Lots of wood, lots of paper, lots of alcohol… It was one hell of a bonfire.”

“...what?” Oz asked after a long pause. “What? What? What?”

“I’m sorry!” she said hastily; he could hear and see she’s starting to panic. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“So you _killed_ him?! Charlie!” Oswald groaned. “Why the hell did you think _this_ is the best possible solution?!”

“I _swear_ I have a good explanation.” she said tearfully; he scoffed.

“Oh, you _better_.” he said angrily; of course he was angry. Who _wouldn’t_ be angry after finding out they got roped into a murder? “You better have a _very_ good explanation.”

“It was self defense!” she finally exclaimed tearfully. “You saw my face. I had to defend myself!”

She looked so panicked and stressed and sad - he actually felt bad for yelling at her.

“Tell me what the hell happened.” he finally said. “In order.”

“He kidnapped me.” she finally admitted after a long pause. “The day I snuck out. He… Kidnapped me, and put a dimeritium collar on me. He then took me to that fucking mansion outside Gotham.”

“I had no idea.” Oz said quietly; but Charlie shook her head.

“Of course you had no idea, you were unconscious.” she said softly. “But I didn’t worry, because I left myself a way out.”

She reached out and touched his left wrist, where her ribbon was.

“I knew that, one way or another… We’d find each other again. So I knew I’m going to _live_. And then… Well.”

She shrugged awkwardly and crossed her arms, looking away.

“He showed me _you_.” she said, her voice breaking again. “I think it was an attempt at breaking me to his will. He told me he’s making you feel an incomprehensible amount of pain and that he’d stop if I _behave_. I think he thought I’m in love with you.” she added, laughing nervously; and his heart dropped for some reason. “And then… A lot of things happened and before I knew it…”

She paused again.

“Now I know adoration’s not always poems and perfumed love letters.” she finally said. “Now I know - and he only realized that as I was sucking him dry. He hit me in a fit of obsessive rage - and I sucked him dry for that. And then you stumbled into the room.” she added in a forcefully cheerful tone. “I think it was the ribbon. I think it… Woke you up. You said something about fire being a purifying force, got me out of that fucking collar, you did that fiery Sigil of yours… And you passed out again. You had your quick travel amulet in your pocket.” she added. “And that’s how we got here and how I killed doctor Elliot. Satisfied?”

Was he?

No; if anything - he was angry and afraid and sad.

“Fucking hell.” he finally said; and Charlie broke into tears.

***

He was stuck with her again; but he didn’t mind, this time for real. He enjoyed her company; plain and simple.

Actually, that was that one thing that made the euphoria of getting his memories and emotions back a lot less sweet; he enjoyed her company. He enjoyed _her_. His heart didn’t just _almost_ ache - it ached for real. It was an odd sensation, one he was unfamiliar with; and he often got gloomy because of it.

When she asked what’s wrong - and she did it often, because she was actually a rather considerate person - he’d simply say he’s thinking about his family again. It was a good excuse - mostly because it wasn’t wholly false. After a short while, thinking about his family _did_ get painful; because he _remembered_ them. They weren’t just named strangers anymore; he remembered them, and their love, and how much _he_ loved them and the fact they were dead and gone was painful, so painful it sometimes made him want to claw his own heart out.

She woke him up one night to tell him he’s been crying for a few hours now.

“Sorry.” he muttered, rolling onto his side; moments later she was in bed next to him, pulling his head onto her lap.

“It’s alright, hunter. I cry too.” she said quietly.

(She was telling the truth; sometimes it was her crying that’d wake him up.)

He almost told her he thinks he’s in love with her that night; he remembered what she told him about falling in love. The sense of belonging and everything making sense, solving a puzzle, not freezing in the blizzard. He was quite sure of it; but he kept it to himself, using his (dead destroyed gone) family as an excuse.

“Did you remember something about what happened to them?”

“No.” he’d mutter. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you back with me again?” he asked; she froze in place, and he could see the muscle on her back getting tense. “Not that I mind, because I don’t. I just thought… You want to settle down on your own, now that you got your money back and can afford it.”

“Thomas Elliot had a restraining order against my mother.” she said calmly, resuming chopping vegetables. “And now he’s dead and his home had burned to the ground and my _mother_ is dead as well. I can’t suddenly resurface in Gotham so soon after someone killed him. I’ll be the first suspect.”

Her excuse didn’t stick; but he decided against picking it apart and driving her away. He didn’t mind her presence; even if it was making his life a bit more difficult.

He cut ties with Falcone, since the mafioso no longer had anything to offer to Oz; and suddenly there were no contracts in Gotham for Oswald to take. Suddenly no one wanted to work with this particular hunter; suddenly he had to rely on illegally supplying blackmarket alchemists with monster body parts in order to earn any money at all. He had some savings, of course; but his money reserve was quickly dwindling. He could, of course, tell Charlie it’s time to pay up, since she owed him a lot for her time spent holed up in his studio; but he didn’t want to. He felt like the moment she pays him back she’s going to leave his life forever; and he didn’t want that.

For the first time in years, he had _someone_ in his life he cared about - and sure, it was a succubus who killed two men and whose touch started to burn him like fire when he got his emotions back and realized what had been going on inside him, why he was never actually bothered by her whims and demands and her warm presence suddenly crushing him against the backrest of his couch; but it was also someone exquisite, someone who managed to get him to the edge of feeling and beyond even when he was still emotionless and numb.

(That exquisite someone once threw a dumpling at him and missed; he never found it.)

Once he got his emotions and memories back, he started to see Sofia Falcone in different light; he remembered what kind of person she used to be. She used to be a quiet daddy’s girl; and now she was actively working against her father. Oz wondered why; and one day he asked her, when she paid him a surprise visit, allegedly to inform him he had turned the Mask into his enemy.

“He’s pretty distraught after the death of Elliot.” Sofia said; and Oz shrugged.

“I’ve got nothing to do with it.” he said, crossing his arms; and Sofia looked over his shoulder.

“Is that _her_?” she asked. “The succubus you saved from my father?”

“In all her glory.” Oz said, turning around and looking at Charlie as well; she was throwing cheese puffs up in the air, trying to catch them with her mouth - and failing miserably. As they were looking at her, a yellow ball bounced against her forehead. “Such a dignified creature, isn’t she?”

“Call me _creature_ one more time, hunter, and I’ll suck you dry.” Charlie warned him; Sofia laughed.

“Yeah, Oswald, be more respectful.” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “After all, you wouldn’t want to sleep in the same room as an angry succubus.”

“Oswald’s a weirdo.” Charlie said before he said anything. “He already knows what I’m capable of when I’m angry. I think he said that on purpose. Did you say it on purpose, hunter?”

She was looking at him innocently, faint smile meandering in the corners of her mouth; and he instantly remembered the last time she claimed she’s angry at him. He wouldn’t mind apologizing to her a few more times; he still had the dimeritium cuffs.

“Maybe.” he finally said. “Sorry. Can we talk it out… Later?”

“Oh, we will.” she assured him. “Stranger! Come on in, sit down, let’s talk. Oz will make us some tea. Oz-”

“I’ll make you some tea.” he interrupted her, closing the door behind Sofia. “Yes. I’ve heard you the first time.”

Charlie seemed to take a liking to Sofia - maybe because they both detested Carmine and his distasteful business practices.

Eventually Sofia turned to Oswald.

“So. You got your memories back.”

“Mmmhmmm.” he muttered; he was mending a hole in his coat. “And now I _clearly_ remember the massive crush you had on Bruce.”

“I had an awful taste as a kid.” Sofia said with a shrug. “But, speaking of Bruce… Have you two been in touch recently?”

“No.” Oz replied, not looking up. “I’m a hunter. He’s a billionaire. There’s not really… A way for me to _contact_ him.”

“You could try Alfred.” Sofia suggested; Oz shrugged.

“I could, but what’s the point? We’ve been out of touch for twenty years. We’re not the same people anymore.”

“Neither are _we_ , but that’s not stopping you from talking to me.”

“We’re both filthy criminals.” he said, rolling his eyes. “I worked for your father, you’re doing… _What_ are you doing for Mask again?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Unspeakable things then. We’re both filthy criminals… _And_ you told me what my name is. Even if it’s ridiculously pretentious.”  
“Yeah.” Sofia muttered, taking a sip of her tea. “No offense to your parents, but… They _did_ look at an infant and decided _Oswald_ is a good name. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. It’s like they wanted you to fail every single test in school, because you’d be too busy writing your own name down to even notice the questions.”

“My parents were one of a kind.” Oswald said with forced smile, feeling a lump in his throat. “Speaking of parents… You never told me what did your old man do to make you hate him so much.”

“Oh, but I did.” Sofia said calmly. “He underestimates me. Did you ever look at the lines of succession in Falcone crime family? Everyone praises the firstborn sons - no one gives a fuck about firstborn daughters. So… It’s high time for my father to learn his lesson.”

“So… It’s all because he wants to hand his empire over to your brother?”

“My _younger_ brother, yes.” she corrected him. “I gave my father plenty of chances, but every time he refused. So… This one’s entirely on him.”

“Christ.” Oz muttered. “So, let’s recount. You’ve waged a war on your father. My parents are both dead and my family’s fortune’s gone. Bruce’s parents are also dead, but at least he’s filthy rich. What about Skyler Hill?”

“Her father disowned her after she got involved in Harvey Dent’s campaign. It was messy. She’s fine now though. She never liked him anyway.”

“...hm.” Oswald muttered; Hamilton Hill was his father’s political rival - one that greatly benefited from Theodore’s death, for it guaranteed him a victory at the mayoral election. He’s been Gotham’s mayor ever since; and Oswald blinked a few times once his brain started to connect the dots.

“No, no, don’t talk to me.” he muttered to Sofia and Charlie, waving his hand. “I just…”

He sat in complete silence for a moment, thinking intensively; Hill benefited from the death of his father. His mother died in Arkham Asylum; after their deaths lots of documents had gone missing, lots of money. He never knew the exact details of _what_ did his family lose - _everything_ was a satisfying answer - but now he started to wonder who else could potentially benefit from what happened to his family.

There was a memory, blurry and hidden, at the edge of his mind; he could almost taste it, he could almost hear it. But he was tired that day, and he only overheard bits and pieces of a conversation as he was shuffling through the corridors of Chateau Cobblepot with a glass of milk and a plate of snickerdoodle cookies; the memory was blurry, but it was _there_ , his mother firmly refusing… Refusing to…

“I think I need an oneiromancer.” he finally said, opening his eyes. “I’m _this_ close to remembering something.”

“Skyler’s been practicing oneiromancy.” Sofia said with a shrug. “For the sake of Dent’s campaign. Says her father’s moves are ridiculously easy to dream out.”

“And do you think she’d be willing to dream something out for me?”

“I don’t see why not. You two were pretty close back in the day.”

Sofia left, promising to talk to Skyler about Oswald’s blurry memory; and he was left alone with Charlie.

Was she really angry at him? He couldn’t tell; but he still let her force an apology or ten out of him.

“Tell me you’re sorry, hunter.” she said, resting her foot on his shoulder; she was lounged naked across his favorite chair and he was kneeling on the floor.

(Hunters were supposed to bow to no one and to kneel before no one; and he never wanted to be a hunter.)

“What am I sorry for this time?” he asked; she laughed.

“You called me a _creature_ , Oz.” she finally said. “It was rude. It was mean.”

“Maybe I’m just mean.” he said; but she scoffed.

“You’re not mean.” she said quietly. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

She spread herself open with her fingers for him, and he leaned in and apologized, over and over; wordlessly, eloquently, solemnly.

“Mmmm.” she muttered afterwards, her body relaxed, her eyes half open; she was watching him and his scars and it almost burned his skin. “Ask me to feed off you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” she said, nudging him with her foot; she pulled the waistband of his pants with her toes and let go, letting it lightly snap against his skin. “Tell me it’d be a honor for you if I accepted you as a willing sacrifice.”

He looked at her, sprawled out across the chair, her lithe limbs dangling freely; she looked at him softly and her lips looked soft and he was sure that even if he closed his eyes he’d still be able to see her form clearly, since he memorized her every curve, every line. She had him kneeling and apologetic; but he didn’t mind being down on his knees for her.

“Have me.” he finally said. “Please. I’m offering myself to you as a sacrifice. Have me and my adoration.”

And she did; and the next day he woke up in an empty flat, because she had snuck out - again.

She left a note behind; again.

 

_Find me when you’re done, my hunter._

 

***

Oneiromancy had proven to be the key to unlocking the secret behind the fate of his family; for the better or worse.

It turned out that the woman who paid him for dealing with the kraken was actually Skyler Hill; his childhood friend and a partner in crime.

“Well, fuck.” she said after seeing Oswald. “Should have known it’s _you_. Not many people have the guts to name their child _Oswald_.”

“Good to see you too, Sky. Heard your father disowned you.”

“Yes he did.” she said proudly. “And I wear it like a badge of honor, because honestly - fuck that guy. He can choke on his Republican bullshit.”

“Did you tell him that _before_ or _after_ he disowned you?”

“Does it matter?” she asked with a shrug. “My father’s a dick. Always was one, will probably die as a dick as well. Might be why I liked _yours_ so much. Your father, I mean. Not your dick. I’m pretty sure I’d die if I saw it.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” he muttered, and she laughed. “As for now… My dick’s taken.”

“Give me their name, so I can send them my deepest condolences.”

He poked her with his elbow between her ribs; she grinned, but became serious moments after.

“But I’m not here to gossip about dicks-”

“I have a piercing, you know.”

“ _I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW THAT._ No more about dicks!” she said firmly. “You wanted to try oneiromancy to find out what happened to your family. Right?”

“Right.” he said, rubbing his temple with his hand. “I have this half-forgotten, very blurry memory - and I _think_ it might be the key. I think it might also be why I ended up _without_ my memories.”

“Tell me about it.” she said, looking at him attentively; and he sighed and told her everything he remembered, every single word; and then the dream came and told him the truth.

He was almost glad he never reached out to Bruce Wayne to renew their friendship; because the truth was ugly and dark. His mind was connecting the dots; Hamilton Hill and Thomas Wayne worked together to get what their wanted from his family - a political victory for Hill, a plot of land for Wayne. In the process, rest of their fortune perished; and someone else provided the muscle power, someone else liquefied the assets.

Oswald woke up feeling a lot of things - anger being the most prominent emotion.

Skyler was very apologetic.

“I didn’t know!” she exclaimed as soon as she opened her eyes. “I had no idea!”

“I’m going to kill your father now.” Oswald announced. “He practically killed mine. It’s only fair.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop you. But GCPD might.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a highly skilled hunter.”

“They’re going to take away your license though.”

“...then it’s a good thing I’m a highly skilled hunter with a secret identity.”

And he did just that - he killed Hamilton Hill. He pushed him out of his office, earlier shattering the glass windows with a Skept Sigil. Hunter Sigils were never meant to be combined with emotions; emotions were like gasoline to magic - and Oswald was _very_ pissed off.

“Along with Thomas Wayne, you destroyed the Cobblepot family.” Oswald said, slowly walking up to terrified Hill; they were alone in the building and the wind was blowing through the destroyed window. “You stole every last penny, you drove Esther to insanity, you pushed Theodore to suicide, you sent their child, your daughter’s _friend_ overseas, to get his mind wiped and his body turned into a weapon…”

“It was all Falcone’s plan!” Hill yelped. “It was all him and Wayne, I- I was only there to smoothen things out!”

“Prove it. Prove it, and I might spare you.”

Hill retrieved something from the safe room; a very unassuming-looking drive.

“Everything… Everything is here!” he exclaimed, handing it to masked Oswald. “Everything Falcone ever planned, everything he and Wayne ever put into motion… It’s here!”

“Thank you.” Oswald said, pocketing the drive. “Is there anything more you’d like to say?”

“The password… The password is that boy’s birthday.” Hill said with a pained expression. “Since no one was supposed to remember him anyway…”

“Thank you.” Oswald said quietly; and just as he heard Hill sigh with relief and loosen up, confident in his own survival - he folded his fingers into a Sigil, pushing the men out of the window.

He didn’t stay and watch; he knew the photo’s going to be plastered around the city anyway.

***

Falcone was a bit trickier; Oswald knew he’s not going to get anywhere near him, neither by himself, nor as the Penguin. As soon as the news of Hill’s death spread, the crimelord had barricaded himself in his fortress high above the streets of Gotham, surrounding himself with only his most trusted men - and most powerful protective magic. For a short period of time, Oz considered using Sofia - but Falcone refused to let her in.

So instead - he used the good men and women of the GCPD; he - anonymously - shared the evidence of Falcone’s criminal empire with them. He didn’t share all of it, since a lot of documents heavily implicated Thomas Wayne, and he wanted to have a bargaining chip ready to use against Bruce - but it was still a lot.

His emotions towards Bruce were complicated - and mostly negative.

They used to be friends; but his father’s greed was responsible for his family’s tragic downfall. He lived in his ivory tower, surrounded by riches Oz was robbed of - and even despite the death of his parents his childhood was comfortable, all while Oswald was being stripped of his humanity.

But before Bruce - he had Carmine Falcone to take care of. He wanted to send out a clear message to Bruce - a show of what he’s capable of. He hesitantly decided to give Bruce at least a chance - it was a human thing to do, and he always wanted to be human.

When Falcone was arrested, Oswald snuck into a police station - and casted a Sigil on one of the armed officers there. He picked her randomly; he simply needed someone with a loaded gun and with no protective charms on. It worked gloriously; of course it did. He was a trained hunter, after all.

Bruce never answered his cordial invitation to the Cobblepot Park, where Oswald’s Sigils were the strongest; but he showed up nevertheless.

Much to Oswald’s surprise, Bruce appeared almost peaceful, almost resigned. He changed a lot; he looked nothing like the boy Oz remembered, but then again - neither did he. One of them turned into a prince charming; the other one ended up as a knife.

He watched his old friend from the shadows for a while, before finally stepping into the light.

“Recognize me?” he asked Bruce, who stared at him in silence. “Been a while.”

“Twenty years.” Bruce said quietly.

“Twenty long, painful years.” Oz sighed. “Do you even know _why_ I wanted to meet you here?”

“No.”

“Then let’s cut to the chase.” Oz said with a grim smile. “And don’t ask me how I’ve been, my eyes are probably telling you everything you should know.”

“Oz, I-”

“Shut up.” he said tiredly. “Your father ruined my family, Bruce. But your father… Your father is also _dead_. Hill and Falcone? They were directly involved. You, on the other hand… You simply get to sit and rule in your ivory tower built on a plot of land stolen from my family. You simply get to spend the money stolen from my family, stolen from _me_.”

“I’m _sorry_.” Bruce said; and Oz looked him in the eye and listened to those words - and felt _nothing_.

“A simple apology won’t cut it, Bruce.” he said with a shrug. “It won’t bring my family back. It won’t change the fact I was sent to a bloody _torture camp_ , it won’t change the fact I’m not even a person, legally speaking. I’m not a citizen. I can’t have a bank account, and I can only live in places whose owners accept cash. I’ve spent all my life going from one shithole to another, wading in shit and blood just to be able to get some cheap dumplings for dinner. A simple apology… Is just not enough.”

“You want money.” Bruce said; and there was a note of disgusted amusement in his voice. “You want me… To compensate you for what my father allegedly did.”

“Not _allegedly_ , dearheart.” Oz said quietly, fishing the drive Hill gave him out of his pocket. “Not allegedly. Everything’s here - and it’s _yours_ … Assuming you do the right thing.”

“How much?” Bruce asked quietly; and Oswald shrugged.

“I don’t know. How much is your family’s good name worth to you?”

Something in Bruce’s eyes changed.

“This is not about my family’s name, Oswald. Keep the drive, I don’t care what happens to it. You’re going to get your money.” he added before Oz said anything. “I hope they make you happy.”

“They won’t, but I’d rather be miserable in a nice suit and with a glass of champagne in hand, rather than wearing rags and drinking cheap wine.” Oswald said sincerely; and Bruce laughed bitterly.

Bruce gave him a small fortune, all in cash; and Oswald was left with the files on Thomas Wayne’s crimes. He spent a few days staring at it, trying to figure out what to do; he could release the information he had, but he could also simply destroy the drive and forget it ever existed.

He chose to let fate decide; he flipped a coin - but before he took a look to see what’s going to happen, there was a knock at his door.

He dropped the coin immediately after opening; because his demon lover was there, with a determined look on her face. She looked different; she was wearing nice clothes and her hair were neatly styled and there was a string of pearls on her neck.

“Charlie.” he said breathlessly; and she smiled and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him and he dropped the coin and it disappeared in the dust and darkness outside; but it didn’t matter, because she was kissing him and he was kissing her. She pushed him deeper inside the flat, slamming the door shut with her foot; and eventually she broke the kiss and took a step back.

“I told you to find me once you’re done, hunter.”

“I’m sorry.” he said, not at all apologetically; she smiled and pulled the fabric of his shirt, leading him towards the door.

“Come, my hunter. You have some apologizing to do.”

“Are you going to feed off me?”

“Of course I am.”

He apologized to her a lot of times that night; and she gracefully accepted each and every apology, arching her back, pulling his hair, scratching his back.

“Oh, my hunter.” she said quietly, holding his face in her hands and looking him in the eye; and he looked up at her adoringly. “My beautiful hunter.”

“My beautiful demon.” he said as she was caressing his face; he kissed her fingertips as they touched his lips.

“Tell me you adore me.” she told him later that night as she was feeding off him; she was gripping his shoulders tightly and he was fondling her breasts with his hands, lost in her eyes, in her body, her presence, _her_. “Tell me.”

“I love you.” he said instead; the movements of her hips paused for a moment.

“Oh, Oswald.” she said quietly, tenderly, softly. “I love you too, you collosal idiot.”

***

The next day he had to apologize to her for ruining the ritual; and he did so eagerly, solemnly, over and over again.

He apologized often; and every time his apology was gracefully accepted.

***

One should not kiss a succubus unless they really mean it - which might be why Oswald kissed her so often.

 


End file.
